Murder in a Stately Mansion
by Gemini Explorer
Summary: Marguerite is informed of her true identity and goes to a reading of her late father's will. But others conspire to kill her. She meets her half- siblings, but will they welcome her, or join those who condemn her as a witch? Can John and the Challengers save her? Meet new continuing characters amidst grave peril!


NOTE: Ths story is Rated as Mature, for scenes of violence, sexual situations, and mild profanity. In these respects, it is on par with many modern novels, but it is not a tale for those easily shocked. Read accordingly. Also, read, "Challenger's Birthday" on this board to see why Finn fell for George Challenger in my fics. Read my Profile for more on the Challengers and how I came to write TLW fiction. But this story is about Marguerite, Lady Roxton, Countess of Avebury, and how learning her origins placed her in grave danger. I just wanted to explain that G&F are married, if you haven't read my other TLW fiction. Some characters introduced here also appear in my other fics, particularly Lord and Lady Lindemere. As you read, note the love and loyalty that Lord John Roxton shows his wife, who much appreciates his moral support at a particularly difficult time in her life. I think he'd be there for her if they were real. Thanks is expressed to the copyright holders of the show for their permission to use their characters in fan fiction. All characters not seen on the TV show are my own creations or are historical figures, used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual living persons is coincidental. The Arabian Sultanate of Amarrah is fictional.

I see that an anonymous reviewer has told us that ladies do not wear red coats while foxhunting from horseback. That is basically true, but whippers-in wear red regardless of gender, and Felicity is a whipper-in on some hunts, her husband being the local hunt master. See Wikipedia, etc. for more on foxhunting in that manner.( I prefer shooting them to riding them down with hounds. But such things were a regular practice of the gentry in that day.) Also, one reader said that some of the dialogue in my fics seems "stilted", rather old fashioned, compared to the TLW show on TV. It is intended to be that way, to let the reader learn more about those times as they were, before Political Correctness, advancing technolgy, and other things resulted in current speech. I strive to recreate the flavor of those times, using books of the day to provide clues to how people spoke and behaved then. NOTE: New information about the real Avebury Manor has caused me to change the one in my Fics to Roxton Manor, a more elaborate estate. This is reflected in, "A Wedding at Avebury," where I've changed the manor name. But it's too much trouble to do this in about 28 other Fics. Please be tolerant, and be aware that the real Avebury house is not that in my stories.

This Story is edited into chapters, to make reading easier. Just scroll down to find the chapter headings. _**Please read and review: reviews and PM's are the only pay a Fic author receives.**_

"**Murder in a Stately Mansion"**

by

Gemini Explorer

_Autumn, 1928_

Marguerite Roxton was having tea and playing chess with Prof. George Challenger in a sitting room at Avebury Manor when her butler entered with news that was to change her life.

"Madam," said the butler, "there are two gentlemen at the door, and they insist on seeing you and the master. They say that they are here on an errand of the gravest importance. I have their cards." He presented the business cards on a small silver tray kept for just such purposes in wealthy homes in that day.

The cards identified John Ransom and Myles Cavendish of the law firm of Ransom, Cavendish, Elwes, and Griffith.

Lady Roxton studied the cards and said, "Very well, Phillip. Lord Roxton and Mrs. Challenger are in the gun room. Please ask them to join us in the library, and then show the gentlemen in there. I'll have Angela bring tea and some cakes."

She rang for the senior maid, and told her what was wanted. Then, she rose, and Challenger followed her into the library.

There, she opened a drawer in her desk and took out a Colt .32 automatic pistol, which she shoved into her waistband well back on her right hip, before donning a sweater over her white blouse. She wore a dark red knee-length skirt and sensible brown shoes with low heels.

"Is that likely to be necessary?" asked Challenger with an amused smile. He was a cautious man, himself, but felt that Marguerite tended to border on the paranoid at times.

"What, the sweater?" asked Marguerite, giving him a wry smile. She knew very well that he was referring to the Colt, not to the sweater. "It's just a mite chilly in here, George. I don't want to light the fire. So, the sweater." She smiled as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Seriously, I don't know these men, and I like to err on the side of caution. They may or may not be barristers. But I can't think why any would come calling on us."

Her husband and Mrs. Challenger came in, questions on their faces. Marguerite hurriedly explained, and had Finn Challenger sit at a table opposite her desk, and lay her purse on it. She knew very well that Finn carried a Colt .25 in that purse, and it wouldn't hurt to have an armed person on each side of the room.

Lord John Roxton stepped forward to greet the men as Phillip showed them in and had the maid take their overcoats and hats.

The taller visitor looked at Roxton and asked, "John Roxton? Lord John Roxton, the XVIIIth Earl of Avebury?"

"So my parents said," admitted Roxton, "and they had honest faces. I believed them. Mr., ah..."

"Ransom," answered the distinguished looking man. "John Ransom. I represent a legal firm."

"I should hate to think that it was an illegal one," quipped Lady Roxton, to the amusement of the Challengers.

Ransom cleared his throat. "And you, madam, are, I presume, Lady Roxton? The Countess of Avebury? This other, blonde, lady is too young to be the woman whom we seek."

"May I introduce our oldest and closest friends, Professor and Mrs. George Challenger?" Roxton motioned to the Challengers, who nodded pleasantly at the visitors. "And you surmise correctly. The brunette lady is indeed my wife. Tea will be here shortly. Please sit, and tell us why you've come. Is there a lawsuit against us, or something? I can't think of any legal issues that we have pending."

"Ah," said Ransom, "but you do have a legal issue at hand, or rather, Lady Roxton does. And it is of grave importance."

He glanced at the Challengers. "This involves some private matters..."

Marguerite spoke sharply. "George and Finn Challenger are almost family. Unless it becomes obvious that they shouldn't stay, I'd prefer them to remain. Will that be acceptable to you, Sir?"

Ransom shrugged. "As you wish." He sat and opened his briefcase, watched carefully by Finn, whose hand was in her purse.

Cavendish sat, too, smiling in a pompous way at the Roxtons. But he felt a faint chill when he turned to admire Mrs. Challenger. There was a certain quality about her that made him uneasy. She was beautiful. Blonde, mid to late 20's, far younger than her distinguished husband, but with a watchful air about her. Her blue eyes were cool and her smile reserved. He felt like an antelope being watched by a leopard and shivered slightly. Ridiculous, he told himself. But all four of these people seemed alert, worldly, and careful. No spoiled, blustery nobles here.

"Well," said Ransom, "we represent the estate of Sir Malcolm Tremayne, the late Lord Lindemere. I believe that you once knew Lord Lindemere, Lord Roxton?"

Roxton nodded. "But that family moved away from here maybe 15 years ago, and we weren't especially close to them. I haven't heard of them since."

"Quite so," clipped Ransom. "But our client did tell us something of you and of your wife. Before I go further, I must ask a very personal question of Lady Roxton. Madam, may I know if you have a birthmark that looks like this?" He extended a sketch of the mark that lay behind Marguerite's left shoulder.

"How did you get this?" asked Marguerite, turning pale.

"The answer to that, Madam, is why we have come." And Ransom and Cavendish looked triumphant.

Cavendish took over. "Lady Roxton, if you have that mark behind your left shoulder and can show it to us and to other witnesses, if need be, you are included in the legacy of Sir Malcolm, who passed away last month. You will have to share the bequest with his servants, a few friends, and with your siblings, of course."

"What bloody siblings?" demanded Marguerite. "Look at the lady in the blue dress at the table there, with her husband in the tweed suit. She is the closest thing that I'll ever see to a sister, and George is like a brother, for the matter of that. Except that they are closer to me than most siblings are to one another... I would trust the Challengers with my life. Indeed, I have done precisely that, on a number of occasions. What is this blather about siblings? And where did you get that sketch of my birthmark?"

Ransom lifted his eyebrows. "It is, in fact, present, behind your left shoulder? And you were born on the estate of Sir Malcolm, 37 years ago?"

"I don't bloody know where I was born, but I have that birthmark. How do you know this? Was that sketch given to you by a Chinaman, by any chance? Or, by an Arab? I must know. My life may be in danger, if so." Marguerite was beginning to feel glad of the .32 in her skirt. What the hell WAS this?!

Ransom raised his eyebrows again. "There is no need to swear, Lady Roxton. We are merely doing our duty to our late client's estate. He was, in fact, a good friend of mine and of Mr. Cavendish here. We were his solicitors for years, and my father handled his affairs before I came into our firm. Neither of us nor Sir Malcolm Tremayne is, or was, either Chinese or Arabic."

Cavendish interrupted. "Lady Roxton, I believe that I know the cause of your unease. I have seen the papers about your recent involvement with a slavery ring in Kenya, and I heard the Prime Minister's address to the nation a few weeks ago. The declaration of war on the state of Amarrah. That sort of thing. Are you still worried about Arabs striking at you, here in England?" He looked compassionate, and Lady Roxton softened.

"Yes, that's quite possible. As you apparently know, I and our dear friend Veronica Malone and other white women were taken by slavers, but rescued before we could be shipped in chains to Amarrah. Actually, I escaped, and killed two of my captors. Another lady, Miss Diana Hardy, and I evaded them, found our friends and the authorities, and saved others. Finn and George Challenger assisted with saving the others, and it wasn't the first time that I have them to thank for saving my hide."

"Good heavens," exclaimed Ransom. "This case was in all of the papers and on the radio! How did you kill two strong Arabs, if I may ask? Surely, that was dangerous?" He moved over to the table opposite the Challengers at Lord Roxton's gesture, as tea and cakes were served.

The Roxtons joined the others, and Marguerite answered, as the maid poured tea into her treasured Wedgewood cup. She liked the rose trim on the cups, with the gold rims. It gave her a feeling of affluence that she had pursued for all of her life, once she knew the value of things.

Before sitting, Roxton walked over to a range of books and took an ivory-handled _jambiya_ dagger off a shelf. He placed it on the table. "Have a look," he invited. "If you don't mind handling a knife that has killed at least two men. Marguerite is rather dangerous, herself. She took that from a captor, killed him with it, and then slew his companion." (See, "On Safari" on this board, rated as Mature.)

Cavendish looked at the younger woman. "And you, Madam, also participated in this endeavor? You look too refined and lovely to kill someone, if I may say so. Professor, your wife is the very vision of loveliness. I congratulate you, if I may, on marrying such a charming woman, the very essence of English pulchritude. It is hard to picture you with blood on your hands, Mrs. Challenger."

Finn smiled. "I don't have blood on my hands. You'd be surprised what a bar of good soap will get off. And I'm Anglo-Brazilian by birth. Didn't become English until I married. But I did use a .275 Rigby rifle to blow an Arab's heart out his back when we caught those bastards. Does that answer your question about whether I'm a killer? Lady Macbeth had nothing on me. She made her husband do all the dirty work. At least, I kill my own enemies. Not that the Genius here hasn't helped, on occasion. It gives him something to do outside of the lab when he gets bored."

Challenger chuckled. "Really, Darling! That sounds rather melodramatic." He took her hand and smiled into her eyes. She glowed, and fed him one of the small honey cakes.

Ransom looked at Cavendish, and both shuddered internally. It was bizarre to see this loving couple, both couples really, and realize that they had literally killed people! And they looked so serene and happy...

Marguerite wanted to get matters back on track. "I believe that you mentioned siblings? Why do you think that I have any?"

Ransom took a sip of tea and said, "Lady Roxton, I know the story of your birth and why you were excluded from the family. Would you like me to tell this now, with your husband and this other couple present? First, I am afraid that we have to insist on viewing the birthmark in question. I ask Lord Roxton's forbearance. Of course, he may be present, to insure that nothing improper occurs. But the story that we have come to tell is very personal, and must be revealed only to the actual heiress and to anyone whom she may choose to tell." He managed a look that begged understanding.

"Marguerite, I think we need to hear this. Do you want me to step into the next room with you and these gentlemen while you remove your upper clothing and show the mark? By the way, gentlemen, I have seen it; it is present, behind her left shoulder." Roxton saw the need to clear up the matter of identity, and he was consumed by curiosity, as he knew that his wife must be.

"No worries from us," said Finn. "Heck, we've all seen that birthmark." Then, it hit her that she had just admitted to seeing Marguerite undressed, and she blushed. Her husband squeezed her hand and looked sympathetically at her.

Marguerite considered, then lifted a small silver bell from the table and rang it. Angela came in, and Lady Roxton said, "Will you find Miss Wilson and ask her to come here, please, with her notebook and a camera?"

Finn was mystified. "Why do you want Susan?" Susan Wilson was Finn's personal secretary, who typed much of Finn's novels and adventure books and helped to edit the film footage of their recent safari. She had been a white slave on the way to market when the explorers had rescued her, Veronica Malone, and Holly Delaterre.

Holly had married a professional hunter and remained in her beloved Kenya, where she and her banker father had a large farm. Susan, a former bank clerk, had eagerly accepted the offer to become Finn Challenger's secretary. Not only did it let her return to England at the Challengers' expense; it avoided the stigma of returning to work at the bank, knowing that everyone there had seen the story in the news and would see her in a different light. As a white girl who had been naked in the hands of Africans and Arab slavers... Such things profoundly affected how women were seen.

All of her co-workers would ask her things that she didn't want to discuss, and some men would ask her out, assuming that she would be "easy". Others, more proper, would avoid dating her, as she would be seen as, "soiled goods", a used woman who was not a legitimate widow. This was 1928, and conservative attitudes were dying hard, especially where racial issues were also involved. In Kenya Colony, British East Africa, many residents were sexually quite liberal. The place was notorious for being a receptacle for those who had encountered scandal in Britain. But the basic issues remained, at least among the "normal" whites there. And Susan didn't want to run with the kinky crowd or with those who had otherwise been shipped off to Kenya by their relatives to avoid gossip or legal action.

Susan came now, with notebook and camera, as instructed. She wore a floral print dress that ended just above the knees, about as daring as was proper then, and white high heels. She had a bracelet made of elephant tail hair on one wrist, and a nice Swiss watch on the other. Both were gifts from the Challengers, Finn having shot the elephant in the Northern Frontier District as Susan watched. White hunter Stuart Hamilton had made both girls and his fiancée, Diana Hardy, bracelets of the tail hairs. The elephant had carried tusks that weighed 114 pounds on one side and 106 pounds on the other. Those magnificent tusks now framed a doorway at the Challenger estate in Kent. But the memory of that bull elephant coming for them still sent chills down Susan's spine. She was glad that she hadn't had to shoot, Finn's precise brain shot with a Jeffery .400 double -barreled rifle having immediately killed the huge pachyderm.

Now, Susan stopped at the table and looked inquiringly at Finn. "Yes, ma'am?" Finn had told Susan numerous times to call her, "Finn", but Susan always replied, "Yes, ma'am. I'll try to remember that, Mrs. Challenger." The truth was, Finn was somewhat larger than life to Susan, and was her heroine and role model as well as her employer. She all but worshipped her boss, whose generosity had lifted poor Susan from a drab existence into a new, glamorous, affluent world.

And Finn had killed one of the men who had meant to sell lovely, blonde Susan Wilson as a helpless slave, destined for the harem of the Sultan of Amarrah.

Finn looked puzzled, and said, "Lady Roxton sent for you, Susan. I don't know why. Marguerite?"

Marguerite looked at the pretty young secretary and asked, "Susan, is that camera loaded? I want you to document my stripping to show these fine gentlemen, lawyers both, my birthmark. It seems that there is a question of whether I am an heiress. I want the proof of my bearing that little pink mark in my hide to be recorded."

Susan looked at Finn, who nodded. "Yes, ma'am, the camera is ready. I try to be efficient. I want Mrs. Challenger to be able to rely on me. What should I photograph? I have some flash bulbs, so we don't need to go outdoors."

"Well, thank Heaven for that," muttered Lord Roxton. "It's bad enough that my wife, the spouse of an Earl and a Peer of the Realm, has to disrobe and show herself to a couple of legal beagles. Having to step outdoors would just compound the matter. I say, Marguerite, are these photos really necessary?"

"Lord Roxton," said Ransom, "your lady is being prudent. And we must have copies of the pictures for the files at our firm that will establish that Lady Roxton is without question the person to whom we were entrusted to impart our information."

"Oh, bloody hell," complained Marguerite. "I see the need for us all to be covered by proof that I am who I say that I am, whoever that is. I hope that you fellows can tell me. Angela, please bring another pot of tea and a cup and saucer for Susan. And some more honey cakes. I think Finn scarfed up most of those that she didn't feed to George. I swear, she waits on that man hand and foot." Marguerite had long teased Finn for the way that she nurtured her man. It had become a standing joke among their small "family."

Roxton chuckled. "Well, George is one of history's most remarkable scientists. I suppose that he needs energy to think great thoughts. Let's get these photos made, then. Are you going to step into the next room, Darling, or what?"

"No," declared his wife. "I'm going to stand out here and disrobe in public. Feel free to applaud, and tip me if I'm good. Susan, will you go to the Victrola please, and put on some sleazy striptease music?"

Susan was taken aback. "Ma'am?"

"Never mind, Susan," said Roxton. "Marguerite is just being sarcastic. It's one of her endearing characteristics."

"Well, here goes," muttered Marguerite. She took off her hand loomed Scottish sweater and hung it on a chair, then passed the gun in her waistband to Finn. At the sight of the Colt, both lawyers 'eyes widened.

"Hell, I didn't know who you blokes were," Marguerite explained. "You might have been sent by the embattled Sultan of Amarrah to kill me. Or, been selling something. I shoot every fourth sales caller. It helps to thin them out so that they aren't such a public nuisance."

Everyone laughed politely. Lady Roxton could really be quite amusing, decided Cavendish. But he noticed the very familiar way that Finn was handling the Colt .32, checking the chamber to see if it was loaded. She did that, replaced the round ejected from the chamber into the magazine, and racked the slide to load the gun again. It was all done quickly, neatly, showing great knowledge of firearms and of this type. Finn then admired the exquisite engraving on the blued Colt, which was fitted with real ivory grips bearing the rampant Colt logo in a small silver medallion. Finn owned an identical gun, she and Marguerite having ordered them from a Colt dealer in London at the same time. John Roxton had a third, from that same order.

Roxton knew full well that Finn was a professional quality gun handler and hardly paid attention. He knew that the blonde Challenger woman would keep the .32 pointed in a safe direction, and be ready to use it if need arose. He mentally chided himself for not arming when summoned to the library. He kept a close eye on Cavendish, who was examining the sharp Arab dagger. But he had pretty much accepted now that these men were who they said.

"Drum roll, please," said Marguerite. "Off with my blouse." She pulled it from her skirt waistband and removed it. She noted with smug female satisfaction the look on the visitors' faces as they saw her lacy white demi bra. Like most of her lingerie, it was inspired by 21st Century styles and was quite lacy and daring for the times.

She turned and let both men rise and examine the faint pink mark on her back. Roxton stepped over and pulled her left bra strap aside to fully reveal the symbol.

"Ma'am?" said Susan. "Lady Roxton? You're going to have to sit down and hold steady while I take the pictures. And the bra needs to come off, if I'm to show the whole symbol. Lord Roxton's fingers are in the way if he just holds the strap over. I'm sorry, but you want a good record, I guess."

She was blushing scarlet, and Finn reached over and squeezed her hand encouragingly and gave her a smile and a wink.

Marguerite shrugged, reached back with both hands and unclipped the bra, handing it to her husband. She dropped her hands, exposing her breasts to full view for a couple of seconds before she turned and sat facing forward in a chair that she dragged over under a chandelier for Susan to have good lighting.

Marguerite had deliberately teased the male visitors with a glimpse of her "equipment", also wanting to make her husband a little jealous. She knew that she would later hear from Roxton about that...But it was fun to startle and arouse the men. Marguerite teased Finn Challenger for being an exhibitionist, but she had considerable feminine vanity, herself. And, at 37, however well preserved she was, she thought that she had better collect as many admiring male looks as she could, before men ceased to be interested.

What ate at her was the knowledge that there had been other photos taken of her with her clothes off, all of them. During the year that she was a slave in Amarrah before the war, she had been forced to pose for photos that would cause her to feel shame if they were ever found. And now that Britain was at war with Amarrah, the Sultan's palace would be searched after the inevitable British victory. Marguerite would pay a considerable sum to keep those pictures from ever becoming public. She hoped that she would have the chance to suppress them, if they were found. They showed her in very compromising positions, in some cases doing things that she dreaded that Roxton would see, let alone the public. If he ever did see them, she hoped desperately that Roxton would find those pictures arousing and want them. She could bear him teasing her about them. But if they enraged him...Hopefully, the pictures and the negatives were lost forever.

She saw the flash of Susan's first photo and waited as she reloaded the flash unit and advanced the film in her Leica camera. Eight more flashes at slightly different angles, and she was done. Several of the shots were of Marguerite's face as she sat upright in the chair, hands over her breasts.

Roxton walked over and handed Marguerite her bra and blouse. "Please don't turn around while you put these on," he whispered. "In fact, I am going to escort you into the next room while you dress. And you're going to have to make it up to me later for exposing yourself that way. Think of something good, milady. Otherwise, you're in for a sound spanking!" He growled deep in his throat and caressed her shoulder. Her nipples went rigid and goose bumps formed on her flesh. She was glad that she was facing the empty end of the room. Damn her husband, sometimes. Now, she would be half aroused until he took her to bed, hours later. Perhaps the Roxtons might soon withdraw to their private rooms for a "nap", she decided. Thank goodness, the children were playing in the garden with their nannies.

She nodded, and John escorted her into a sitting room off of the library until she had donned her clothing. He collected the Colt .32 from Finn as he led Marguerite away.

Angela came in with a fresh pot of tea, more cakes, and some little cucumber and ham sandwiches on the serving cart. Finn stood, got Susan a chair and bade her sit next to her and Challenger.

They heard Lady Roxton's voice from the next room. "George, don't let Finnykins eat all of those sandwiches. I want some in a moment!"

But it was actually several moments before the Roxtons returned to the table, and Finn and Susan noticed that Marguerite's lipstick was a little smudged. Roxton had a smug, satisfied look on his face as he led his wife back into the room, and Marguerite was blushing as she pretended to be Mrs. Cool, gracious hostess.

Challenger noted all this, but decided that, overall, this session had gone as well as it could possibly go. And Marguerite would now learn the truth about her origins. Challenger knew that this would mean the world to her. He hoped that the facts wouldn't be too grim or excessively tawdry. He had come to regard Marguerite Roxton as being somewhere between a daughter and a sister to him, and he loved her dearly. She deserved good news after all of the horrors, anxieties, and degradation that she had suffered in her life.

"Well," said Ransom, "we are at the point where I must tell Lady Roxton her true origins. Final chance, Madam: do you wish this said in confidence, or will you have your friends hear it?"

Marguerite thought, realizing that she was biting her fingernails when Roxton took her hand and held it, looking into her eyes with love and compassion.

"Whatever your decision, Darling, I will love you no less, whatever we learn of your birth." Her husband wanted Marguerite to know that she had his unqualified support.

"Same here," quipped Finn. "But who cares what I think? My affection can be bought with cucumber sandwiches." And she took one off of the platter.

Marguerite smiled wanly and tossed a wadded napkin at Finn, who grinned.

"I can leave, Lady Roxton, if you want this to be just between you and the Challengers." Susan was aware of Marguerite's stress and she didn't want to add to it by remaining if she wasn't wanted.

Marguerite shook her head. "No, stay please, Susan. Take this down in your notebook. I want to be sure that we have it recorded in case I find it a little hard to concentrate later."

Finn nodded, and Susan opened her notebook and took out her pen. That seemed to be the catalyst to trigger Marguerite's decision.

"Go ahead, gentlemen. I have waited for this knowledge all of my life, and I suppose that I want to hear it now, with my friends to help me get through it if it's bad."

"I'm afraid that it is indeed a bit sordid," admitted Cavendish. "The fact is, you were the illegitimate daughter of Sir Malcolm Tremayne, Lord Lindemere. You were born about ten miles from here on his estate on July 28, 37 years ago."

"Your mother," said Ransom, "was a local girl, quite pretty and smart, but of average means. She was not of the nobility. Her father was a schoolteacher. She was seduced by Sir Malcolm at a party during which both drank too much. One thing led to another. There are stories that she hoped to marry him, but it is more likely that he had his way with her, whether she wished or not." He lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. "You presumably know that the landed gentry have often taken women on their estates in lust, and that little or nothing is usually done. Apart from their influence, these men succeed because no one wants a scandal.

"Well: the girl became pregnant. Now, there were several occasions on which she slept with Sir Malcolm after that party, so I suspect that she did harbor feelings for him, although she knew that he was married, and a lord. When the child -you - was born, it had to be hushed up, although many in the area knew for practical purposes whose daughter you were."

"Lady Lindemere was scandalized, of course, and never forgave you for being born. She could have looked the other way about her husband's affairs, had you not arrived to stain his honor, and hers. So, you were raised in the next county over, by a tenant farmer on one of Sir Malcolm's estates. Then at six, you were sent away to boarding school, far from here. Sir Malcolm felt guilty, and insisted on providing for you. He even saw that your mother obtained a job with one of his companies in London, well out of the area. She would be in her early 60's now, if alive, but we have long since lost contact with her. She has never inquired after you, I'm afraid. Lady Lindemere was livid, but agreed that sending you away to school was the best way to prevent further trouble."

Cavendish took over again at this point. "Lady Roxton, the tenant farmer and his wife noticed your strange birthmark, and showed it to some people in the area. A woman who was rumored to be a witch got to hear of it and insisted on seeing it. When she did, she said that it was the sign of a reincarnated Druid priestess named Morrighan, and that you were enchanted. Excuse me, Lord Roxton. I am merely quoting what I have been told over the years. I am not the originator of this information. It is really quite far-fetched. Marguerite was even supposed to be able to speak in foreign tongues, and this frightened those who knew her. Many children were afraid to play with her. The day when you left for school caused a sigh of relief in the community, I understand.

"As you will surely recall, there were some presents sent to you at holidays, but no one came for you, as you were unwanted. You had to stay at school or be boarded locally during summers and at Christmas. Your bills were paid, but no love came your way, I gather. After you graduated school, you were sent a modest sum and a note telling you that you must then make your own way in the world. Is this correct?"

"It is very damned correct," snapped Marguerite, wiping away a tear. Her husband put an arm around her and pulled her to him, moving his chair over to sit beside her.

"Ah, this is painful for me to say," continued Cavendish, "but we were informed that you drifted into a questionable life, and there were rumors of your having become involved with unsavory characters in London. including participation in a jewel theft in Paris. From then, you seem to have disappeared, until you married Lord Roxton and someone recognized you after that birthmark was cited in the recent slavery ring publicity. Your name really is Marguerite, you see, and some here remembered the events of your youth. Your father survived the death of his wife some years ago and was interested to learn of your return. He felt that you would wish no contact with him, given his shameful treatment of you as a child. And you had become a noblewoman. But he felt that you should be acknowledged after his death, and claimed as a child, along with your half brother and half sister, his legitimate family heirs."

"I see," said Marguerite. "And how was this news received by my half siblings? I just bet that they were overjoyed to share with little old me." She looked as bitter as Roxton had ever seen her.

The lawyers looked at one another and nodded. "Yes, there is some bitterness. But if you meet with them, perhaps the ice will be broken, and all may be reconciled. This was your father's dying hope. He felt great guilt over your treatment in his later years, and through his bequest, he hoped to partially right a great wrong."

"How eager was he to right this great wrong?" demanded Marguerite. "How much have I got coming?"

"Ah," said Ransom. "Now, that, we cannot say until the will is read. This brings us to the purpose of our visit, beyond notifying you of what we have. The will is to be read next weekend, this coming Saturday, at 9:00PM, at the Lindemere estate. Dinner will be served at seven, and the family is welcome to begin assembling any time after Wednesday morning, as some will have to come a considerable distance, and will want to share or renew acquaintances. I feel sure that all will be eager to meet you, if only to see what you turned out to be. Of course, they have been notified that you are now Lady Roxton and your being in the news so much over that slavery situation in Kenya has informed them of your recent doings."

"Doings?" Marguerite was irate. "I and other British women are kidnapped for an arrogant son of a bitch who'd like to rule the Middle East and it's just 'doings'? That vile man and his even nastier late father are vermin, absolute rotters. I was once held, as you surely know, for about a year in his charming sire's harem, to my intense shame. The first time, my name was kept out of the news, but this time, my humiliation has been complete, with the damned tabloids printing any vulgar details of this that they could glean." She sat with arms tightly crossed, a thoroughly unhappy expression on her face.

"Ma'am?" ventured Susan. "My name was in the same stories, and I hope it hasn't reflected badly on the Challengers. But our being saved was what caused Parliament to declare war on Amarrah. So, some good will come of this. The Sultan's regime should fall any day now, and we can try to console ourselves by realizing that we were the cause of his demise. That will save many girls like us, who would otherwise be sold in Amarrah and maybe even in some other Arab states. And you were so brave! You saved poor Diana and helped to save me and Holly and Mrs. Malone."

Ransom and Cavendish looked keenly at her. Ransom spoke what was in both of their minds. "Are you one of the intended slaves, then, Miss? I'm afraid that we didn't catch your name."

"She's Susan Wilson, and she did nothing wrong. She was just stolen right out of her flat in Nairobi and taken to that Indian store in the bush where we found her and Miss Delaterre," said Finn. "And I don't want Susan, now my secretary, to suffer any more from what she has been through." Finn was coldly emphatic, clearly defensive on Susan's behalf. Her husband nodded vigorously in support.

"Your name is Challenger, I believe," said Cavendish, looking shrewdly at the couple sitting across from him. "Yes, now I am making some mental connections. Your name has also been featured in this sordid affair. And you were the scientist who thought that dinosaurs still roamed in South America, I believe? Who led an expedition there almost a decade ago? Yes, and the papers said some unpleasant things when you returned with the present Mrs. Challenger. It seems that you two became involved while you could not yet have known that your first wife had died of flu in 1921. Yes, I do recall that in the press. It is very unseemly, the way the media feeds on sensation. Well, having met you, I must say, you two seem like very nice people. Not that you asked my opinion. I assure you, neither Mr. Ransom nor I were making value judgments about Miss Wilson, nor, for that matter, of Lady Roxton. They seem to be innocent victims of the slavery ring. I do hope that mentioning this has not brought any of you undue pain. But we did need to verify that Lady Roxton is both the woman in the news over that incident and the one with the same birthmark who was conceived by our late client."

Roxton entered the conversation. "Might we know just who knew about Marguerite's birthmark and made this connection when drawings of it appeared in the press?"

"Yes," said Ransom. "In fact, you may meet them at the mansion when you visit for the reading of the will. The couple who raised her from birth until she was six are still alive, and they well knew that small birthmark, which caused such concern when an alleged witch said that it was an evil mark. Sir Malcolm was still alive for a few months after they saw it in the news, and they told their present landlord, Sir John Hammond, who promptly told his friend Tremayne. A midwife who assisted in the birth also recalled the mark, and saw it occasionally while visiting the couple who raised her. They are the Throckmortons, by the way, Fred and Tessa. They're retired now, Sir Malcolm having provided for them with a trust fund. "

"Did you find any dinosaurs at all, Professor?" asked Cavendish, with a smug grin.

"We have discussed that at length in the media," said Challenger tersely. "There were signs of much more recent existence there than elsewhere, and I did discover and name certain modern lizards that are of prehistoric lineage. Only the Tuatara is more primitive. So, my theory was not groundless. And we found much else that is of interest to Science." (The explorers had never discussed finding living dinosaurs, hoping to protect the Plateau from sensation-seekers and others who might damage it or confront their friends there.)

"Leave the Genius alone," spoke his wife. "He's one of the greatest scientists of all time, and he's my man. I won't have you make fun of him. We've had enough trouble with this Amarrah stuff that we don't need your snide grins about what happened on that Plateau in Brazil, where I was born, by the way. If you really want to know what we did there, buy my book or Ned Malone's. We covered some of the same things, but from different viewpoints, and both of us had some things in our books that the other didn't. I have a few copies of my book here. Want to buy an autographed copy?" She grinned her gleeful impish grin and both men were much taken with both her beauty and her loyalty to her husband. It was also difficult for a man who had seen Finn Challenger's radiant smile to be angry with her or to wish to taunt her.

"Actually, Mrs. Challenger, I would like to buy a book," said Ransom. "It seems the least that we can do for our touching a nerve as we seem to have done. I apologize if we appeared derisive, Professor. But that was such a sensational expedition! I recall reading about your departure while I was in law school. Now that I think of it, I understand that Prof. Arthur Summerlee, your colleague, was killed in Brazil. My condolences, sir."

"Apology accepted," muttered a still miffed Challenger. "Our son is named after Arthur. I assure you that his memory is still much with us, although my wife didn't know him. The rest of us recall him well. But if we may return to this affair of the inheritance, who are Marguerite's siblings? I imagine that she would like to know."

"Damned right I would," replied Lady Roxton. "How many are there?"

"Of the siblings, two," answered Cavendish. "But their spouses will be present at the bequest hearing, and some other interested parties will attend."

"Your half-brother, Lady Roxton, is named Charles. That's Charles Tremayne, of course. He is the new Lord Lindemere, his father's natural male heir. His wife is called Felicity. Your half-sister is Clarissa, and her husband is Giles. You have a cousin, Martin Randt, from the late Lady Lindemere's side of the family."

"Now, madam," continued Cavendish," I regret to inform you that Martin Randt has a bit of a reputation, and not a good one. He was cashiered from the Royal Navy for cruelty and incompetence and for deep suspicion of stealing from the unit funds. His incompetence involved having run a destroyer aground, causing some damage to the ship and injury to two crewmen. Mr. Randt is known to be a gambler and has an unsavory reputation. But Lady Lindemere felt responsible to him as her kin, and made Lord Lindemere promise to include him in his bequest. He has done that, for he was an honorable man, apart from his indiscretions with young women. You are his only illegitimate child, however. And he did not dally with women not his wife very often after your birth."

"That birth caused a great strain on the marriage, as you may well imagine," Ransom took over. "Were it not that a divorce would cause such a scandal, it is quite likely that the Lindemeres would have parted. As it was, they actually managed to regain some affection for one another with time, and Sir Malcolm seems to have given up other women. If not, he was at least more discreet about it."

"Well: that is the main cast. You will meet the rest at the estate. May I say that you will join us for the reading of the will? I promise you, it will be worth your while, although I am not allowed to say the sum that you are due. Naturally, your husband is also welcome."

The Roxtons looked at one another and some subtle signal passed between them. Lady Roxton faced the lawyers and said, "Yes, gentlemen: Lord Roxton and I will certainly attend. On another matter, may we bring guests? I should like the Challengers and Miss Wilson to accompany us, as our dear friends. If they will consider that, of course. It would mean much to me." She looked at her companions.

The Challengers looked surprised, and then studied each others' faces. The same sort of telepathy seemed to go on as it had with the Roxtons, and Challenger said, "You decide, Darling. But if Marguerite wants us there, and it is acceptable, I should like to accommodate her."

"Maybe," Finn said coolly. "But we don't work cheap. I want two more of these little cucumber sandwiches and more tea. Marguerite?"

Lady Roxton muffled her laughter and told Mrs. Challenger that she would pay her fee.

"Speaking of eating," noted Roxton, looking at his watch, "it is getting on towards supper. Cook will probably be in to announce that soon. Will you gentlemen join us? I feel sure that we can set two extra plates. And Susan, if Finn permits, you are also welcome. No need to eat alone or with the staff."

Cavendish declined, as did Ransom. The latter explained that both needed to get home for dinner, as they were expected by their families. But the Challengers and Miss Wilson could indeed attend the reading of the will.

"Probably, no one else is bringing guests. But you're family, and if you wish your friends to accompany you, I daresay that Lord Lindemere will not object." Ransom smiled.

Then, he lifted the ivory-handled Arab dagger in its silver sheath. "Lord Roxton, is this a treasured memento, or might I purchase it? It should be quite a conversation piece. I'll pay a very fair price."

"Put that down," said Lady Roxton, a little forcefully. "I killed two men with that. It comforts me somewhat, and assuages my anger at what they did to me and to other women. I'm keeping it."

"I could show you a few similar knives in my collection," offered Roxton. "My wife could handle one, and you could tell how it was once in the hands of the notorious Lady Roxton. Interested?"

Ransom looked taken aback. "Ah, not at this time, thank you. It was just a thought. I'm sorry if I upset anyone."

"We'll see you gentlemen next week at the Lindemere estate, then," said Roxton. "I know where it is. A bit remote, but I know the way, and it has a road that will take motorcars. We'll drive there, so as to avoid having our host send a car for us at the railway station. We don't want to be a burden."

The Roxtons showed their guests out and watched as they left in a silver Bentley automobile. "Looks as if legal beagleing pays well," commented Roxton drily. "I hope they earn what they charge."

"I feel sure they don't work for what Finnykins does," agreed his wife. "Come on; let's see if she's left any sandwiches. I could do with one before dinner. Learning who I am has given me an appetite!"

CHAPTER TWO

Cavendish and Ransom pulled up the privacy panel separating them from their chauffeur. Well," spoke Ransom, "what did you think of that lot?"

Cavendish chuckled. "I must say, Lady Roxton is well preserved. I would have taken her for a younger woman. And she certainly has a fine set of knockers! My word, I hadn't expected to see those! I admit, I can see what Lord Roxton sees in her, despite her lack of identity until now. And she has spirit! I half believe that story about her knifing two Arabs! Doesn't seem to have dulled the edge on that dagger, though. Did you feel it?" He shuddered.

"Yes," said Ransom. "They keep it sharp. And that gun in her skirt! I wonder whether we should have admonished them not to bring it to the reading of the will. Do you think she harbors hatred for her siblings? They are definitely unhappy about her!"

"I doubt that she'd actually shoot anyone, but they aren't likely to win an award for Family of the Year, are they? I say, what about the Challengers? She's a fine looking bit of muff! I'd like to have seen her pair! Oh, damn it! I forgot to buy her book. I'd rather like to read it, especially an autographed copy. I think I'll ring them up when I get home and ask that she bring me one, maybe copies for friends, too. I've read that there are pictures of her in there with her in black shorts that are so brief that they'd get her arrested in Britain. And of that Mrs. Malone in a loincloth like savages wear! That would be worth whatever she's charging for the book." He laughed.

"I do look forward to seeing them again. All four are such interesting people. And they seem extremely close to each other. I quite like the way that Mrs. Challenger fed those little cakes to her distinguished husband. I wish that my wife was that attentive! Not to mention, I fancy that she gives the old boy a better roll in the hay than he'd easily buy in even a high class knock shop. I suspect that both ladies know very well how to use those fine bodies. But their minds seem sharp, too. I don't really think that either married just for money."

His companion agreed. "I do look forward to meeting them again. I can't think when I last met such stimulating people, four at once, not to mention that little bimbo, Susan. Now, there's another bit of fluff that I'd like to have my way with!"

"Good luck with her, then," said Cavendish. "Best be careful, chum. I rather think that Finn is protective of her. Did you see the way that she handled that gun? Gave me chills. You know, I think I'll have her bring me a couple of those books, too. Ask her for me, please."

Josephine, one of the downstairs maids, came in just after the lawyers left, and announced dinner.

When the friends were seated and their plates and glasses had been served, Roxton lifted his wine. He held it so that light from a chandelier shined through it, projecting garnet colors onto the white tablecloth.

"Now, there, Marguerite," he declared, "would be a good color for your next dress. Not that you don't have some similar ones, already." He lifted his glass in a salute to his wife.

"Marguerite always looks good in red," agreed Finn.

"She looks pretty damned good out of red, too," laughed her husband. The ladies blushed, although Finn and Marguerite also smiled.

Finn's smile was one of her wonderful impish grins, and her husband beamed at her. Challenger loved her face when it lit up like that. Even Susan smiled after a few seconds. Lord Roxton was sometimes racy in his remarks, but Susan had come to like him tremendously. He was often drolly funny, and he made a girl feel appreciated and protected. And he was Finn's best male friend, the two of them being close companions as well as frequent hunting partners.

Susan was a little in awe of all of these people, and her employer was her role model. Or would have been, if Susan had thought herself courageous enough to do the things that she knew that Finn had. As was, Susan Wilson was content to bask in Finn Challenger's radiance. She was also a little overwhelmed by Prof. Challenger. Like Finn herself, Susan felt as if she was in the presence of an icon, a true scientific and human genius.

Dinner was not served in three courses of fish, fowl, and meat, as in some wealthy homes of that day. On this informal occasion, Marguerite simply asked everyone to tell the servants what they wished.

Marguerite chose pheasant, shot two days before on this very estate, for the Roxtons raised enough birds to provide them and close friends with shooting when they wished. Her wine, like her husband's, was red, Chateau Haut-Brion.

Finn and Susan had broiled fish, salmon taken by the gamekeeper that day from a large stream that ran about a mile from the main house. They drank white Burgundy, a good Meursault, from a famed _negociant_ in Beaune. This man, Joseph Drouhin, was a French war hero, and Roxton sometimes ordered his wines with that in mind. The Victoria Cross recipient respected his gallant brothers in arms. Mid-meal, Finn also had a servant bring her a breast of pheasant in tomato, basil, green pepper, and onion sauce, which she ate with gusto.

That entitled her to a glass of the Haut-Brion, and Roxton asked whether anyone realized that this wine was served to the US and British peace negotiators at the conclusion of what Americans called the War of 1812. "Probably helped the diplomacy," he winked.

"I should think so," laughed Challenger. "It's hard to stay mad at other gentlemen when you're both drinking something this sublime." He was having roast venison, from a deer harvested on the estate by his wife several days before. Finn's .275 Rigby bullet had hit in the high lung area, ruining little or no edible meat. She was quite smug about the shot, at over 200 yards.

Conversation soon turned to the visitors. "Not bad chaps, really, for a couple of barristers, eh?" opined Challenger. He added rice from a large serving bowl to his carrots and green beans.

"I'm reserving my opinion until I see them in action at this family get-together," muttered Lady Roxton.

"I've got your back, Marguerite," promised Finn. "I'll shoot anyone trying to stick a knife in it." She giggled, partly from the effect of three glasses of wine on her five foot, seven inch, 116 pound body.

"There is a reason why lawyers in America are sometimes called, 'bottom feeders'," noted Roxton. "Or, so Ned says. He told a joke about that, I recall." Their friend Ned Malone was fond of lawyer jokes. He and his wife Veronica had returned to Brazil and their Treehouse after the recent safari.

Challenger shrugged. "Some are surely better than others. These seemed a cut above average, and they looked at Marguerite with some genuine compassion, I felt."

"That's not what they looked at me with," his wife grinned. "They just generated plain old lust. I guess that I should be grateful when guys undress me with their eyes. Susan, they ogled you pretty well, too."

"Yes, ma'am," admitted Susan. "I noticed. They made me feel cheap, like I was easily available because I was once nearly a slave. I was already naked, in chains, and would be in Amarrah in a harem by now, if it wasn't for you people and your hunters. I'm more grateful to you than I can express, every day. The good news is, Mrs. Challenger hired me and gave me a life beyond even my wildest dreams. Thank all of you again, from the bottom of my heart." She sniffled, and Finn rose and ran around the end of the table and comforted her.

Marguerite was seated next to Susan and she also reached over and held the young girl's hand as she regained control of herself.

"Have a glass of this wine, lass "offered Challenger. "It'll give you some pluck and spirit. There's a good girl. Mind you, I did notice that look from the gentlemen. But it may not have been all from your captivity making you have an 'easy' image. I rather think that most men would admire you, whether they knew of your enslavement or not. You are really quite lovely. I'm sure they meant their looks at you to be complimentary. As you heard, my wife rather likes being undressed by men's' eyes. She wonders if they find her attractive, otherwise."

Marguerite snorted, half choking on a bite of pheasant. "Finn definitely likes to be admired. She's a shameless hussy if she can get a man to look, right, Finnykins?"

Finn stuck out her tongue at her friend, and they all laughed. Even poor Susan smiled and was soon more cheerful.

"So, you'll all come to my grand meeting with my siblings?" asked Marguerite. "I really would feel better with my best friends present. I doubt that my blood sister will ever be as close to me as Finnykins and Veronica are. But I'll give her a chance, I suppose. Maybe she won't hate me. Probably depends on how much money I get."

"That usually has a bearing on matters," agreed her husband. "I say, George, I had cook bake a blackberry pie for you. And we have ice cream, made to Ned's own recipe. Who wants dessert?"

The Roxtons and the Challengers decided to arrive at the Tremayne estate on Thursday, to enable them to become acquainted with the family before the reading of the will on Saturday. Finn and Roxton discussed this in the library after dinner the next night.

"Is there any shooting there?" wondered Finn. She had learned that in Britain, "shooting" in this context meant hunting of game. "Hunting" meant riding horses after foxes. Finn had rather bait for foxes and snipe one as it came to feed. She thought that riding horses that way was tantamount to having a suicide wish.

If a horse failed to clear a fence, you could break your neck, not to mention having your horse probably die or have to be put down. Finn had rather bait for foxes or coyotes where they'd been raiding livestock, or hide and squeak like a wounded rabbit to attract her quarry. She half wished for coyotes here. They were wary opponents, and calling one in to kill it by pretending to be an injured animal was an achievement. They didn't even have many lynxes here now, and the European Wildcat was largely restricted to Scotland and too like a big domestic cat to interest her.

"Not the right occasion, Finn," replied Roxton."Maybe another time, if we make friends there. I just hope that this won't be too traumatic a trip for Marguerite. I'm worried about her, pal. She's wondered for all of her life who she was and where she originated. Now, she'll learn, but it may not be a painless process, old friend. And we have no idea how we'll be received. Why don't you and George take pistols, just in case something goes very awry? With that much money at stake, and the animosity that her arrival may generate, I'm a bit concerned about someone getting angry and doing something dangerous. Mind you, the Tremaynes are an honorable family. I used to know Charles and Clarissa when we were young. Not that we were close. My father and Sir Malcolm had some business rivalries, and there were personal clashes. And Father felt that Tremayne had behaved badly with regard to his illegitimate daughter." ("Behaved badly" was a serious comment on the poor conduct of a gentleman. It carried much more of a stigma and criticism than it might imply to the average English speaker in future times.)

"Johnny, are you saying that you knew about this all along?" Finn was shocked.

"No, of course not, Nicole, not the way that you mean. But I grew up here, and my family heard the story. I just never realized that Marguerite was that child. It never crossed my mind. Why would it? There was simply no viable connection."

Finn nodded. That made sense. "How does Marguerite feel now? Do you think she'll get through this okay?"

Roxton shrugged. "She's strung as tight as a violin string, but she's coping. I think she both dreads and longs for this meeting to happen. All we can do is to let her know that we love her and are there for her, however she needs us to be."

Finn nodded, stood on her toes to kiss Roxton on the cheek, and turned to see to her packing.

Marguerite entered the den as they parted, and said. "Hello, you two. My ears were tingling. Were you discussing me?"

Finn grinned. "The only reason your ears were tingling is that you want Johnny to take you to bed and kiss them, Marguerite. Look, it's midnight. George and I will pack a little tonight, and then we'll see you in the morning. Sleep tight... after he's through with you, Big Sis. You have a MAJOR day coming up tomorrow!" She pecked Marguerite on the cheek, hugged her and was off to her room.

Marguerite trembled inside, but decided to play it cool. "John, whatever does she mean, 'when you're through with me'? Have you been bragging to her that you're a big stud, or something?" She gave Roxton that look that he knew meant that she was toying with him.

He smiled back. "Madam, I don't have to brag about that to her. Finn, like all beautiful women who know me, is intuitively aware of my prowess. And you, fortunate woman, will get to experience my best efforts tonight. Ready to go up to bed and see what I mean?" He drew her to him and held her, kissing her between the eyes.

"Oh, John!" she murmured. ""This is one of the seminal events of my whole life! I'm so glad that I have you and our friends to see me through this."

"You'd make it on your own," he told her. "We're here for you, certainly, and we love you. But you're a survivor, Marguerite. You'd be all right even if you never knew me, George, and Finn. You have what it takes to succeed, whatever the odds."

"You three shorten the odds for me, though," she admitted. "And I love you more than I ever thought that I'd love any human being, until I met our children. Oh, John, I shall miss them! How long will we be gone? If the will is read on Saturday, I want to come home on Monday, unless there is some legal bumfuddle to complete. Even if I like my new relatives, we can always visit them again soon. But I want this to be past me, and just us alone to talk about what it means. If George and Finn want to stay for a few more days, fine. They'll stay to themselves if I want you alone. All I have to do is tell Finn that there are honey cakes in the kitchen, and we'll have the rest of the house to ourselves." She laughed softly, her mouth near her husband's ear.

He squeezed her. "If you need solitude, I'll take her shooting and you and George can talk. That might be therapeutic for you, I think. He has a way of soothing you, as he does Finny. I see how he got her through her own nightmares. Let him help you, if you need it. I'll do all that I can, too, of course. You are mine and I am yours, for ever and ever, until the end of all time. Understand, Lady Roxton?" He kissed her eyes and stroked her hair, then her back.

She nodded, then whispered, "Take me up to bed, John. See if you can get my mind off this matter for awhile. Then, tomorrow, we and our dearest friends will see what all of this inheritance thing amounts to. But my true riches, whatever Sir Malcolm may have left me, are you and our children. I know that, and I value it above all else."

Roxton nodded, took her right hand, and led his wife up to their room.

CHAPTER THREE

It was just after noon the following day when they left. They took just one car, the Roxtons' Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, which in spite of the name was black. They had another in tan, but thought that the black one would be more appropriate for attending the reading of a will and impressing Marguerite's relatives.

Each couple had just one suitcase apiece, and a small bag or two for other items, although some additional gear went into the boot. This wasn't a proper trunk (US term) from later days, but an actual trunk strapped behind the car, on the rear running board area.

They left the shotguns and rifles behind, the Challengers planning to return for another two days' visit before returning to their own home. But each couple packed pistols, just in case. They added binoculars, not knowing whether they'd be needed. But they might, and Finn in any event wanted to study the night sky, if it was clear. This idea appealed to her husband, also.

The Challengers often lay on blankets at home or wherever they travelled, looking up at the stars, holding hands, talking about the legends of the constellations. They had telescopes at home, too, of course, Challenger being the consummate scientist that he was.

The men rode in front, the ladies in back, the better to talk about female subjects. "Keeps them where they belong," joked Roxton, to an obscene gesture from his wife's uplifted middle finger. Finn snickered, and got in beside Marguerite.

Finn wore a tailored dark green wool jacket, with a matching skirt below her knees. Her blouse was white, and she had a jaunty hat in green, with a long black feather.

"Looks like something that Robin Hood would wear, female version," teased Challenger. His wife grinned back, tipping the hat in question.

The men wore tweed suits, in keeping with the chilly weather, this being near the onset of winter. They had warm topcoats, too, and might need them if the wind picked up.

Marguerite chose dark red for her skirt and jacket. Like Finn, she somewhat preferred this idea of a skirt and blouse to a dress when travelling. Her hat was dark brown, less dashing than Finn's, but very respectable. She wanted to create a good first impression. Both ladies wore tall brown boots, helping to warm their desirable legs.

Susan wore one of her nicest outfits, anxious to impress. It was a charcoal dress and cape with green scarf.

"All aboard that's coming aboard!," called Roxton, and started the engine. Moments later, they were off, all wondering what lay in store at Lindemere Manor

Two hours later, Roxton pulled into the long driveway to Lindemere Manor. It was a stately place, with red brick construction and tall white columns, with marble lions guarding the steps.

Roxton pulled around in front of the house. and they discussed how to announce their arrival, for no one had looked out or come to the door.

Finn whispered something to Marguerite, who laughed. "George," she called, "your child bride wants to hoot the horn. Probably not the best way to announce our arrival, I think." But she laughed, anyway.

Challenger rolled his eyes, but chuckled. "Roxton, I think one of us had better rap on the door. I think I see a knocker, so you won't have to endanger your knuckles pounding on the door."

Roxton made a grimace, but got out and ascended the wide stairs. He used the brass knocker ring to summon someone inside.

In a moment, the door opened and a rather imperious looking butler looked him up and down, and asked, "Yes?"

Roxton was miffed.

"I am the Earl of Avebury. My wife was notified of an inheritance from the late Sir Malcolm Tremayne, and we were asked to attend the reading of the will. Can you find someone to bring in our bags, please?"

The butler's eyes widened slightly on hearing Roxton's identity and his high title. "Your wife is Lady Roxton, I presume?"

"Yes, yes," replied the Earl. "Look, is Charles here? He will probably remember me. We were children together, on adjoining estates."

"Certainly, sir," said the butler and called to a passing maid, "Anne, will you ask Master Charles to come to the door? Lord Roxton, the Earl of Avebury is here. They are expected, I'm afraid."

"Why are you 'afraid'?" demanded the Earl. "Do I detect some reluctance in your welcome? If my wife's relationship to this family is disreputable, I'll remind you that her birth was not her doing!" He was clearly upset, and the butler realized that he had overstepped his position.

"I will attend you with your bags, sir. Do you have many? I can get assistance."

Roxton considered. "No, just come with me, and Prof. Challenger and I will carry what you cannot. We travelled light. We expect to be here for just three days or so. The professor and his wife are our guests."

The butler's nose went back in the air again. "Guests, Sir? I wasn't aware that the attendees were bringing any guests. No one else has." His condescension was evident again.

"Look here, whatever your name is; I doubt that servants determine who may bring guests. My wife is a member of this family, however shamefully she has been treated. And the solicitors told us that bringing two friends was quite acceptable. Mrs. Challenger also has her personal secretary present."

"Very well, sir, and my name is Thomas. I'll show you to rooms, and Mr. Tremayne is coming, as you heard. I'm sure that we can settle all five of you in nearby quarters. The manse does have ample rooms." He looked proud of that. It was an impressive home, and he had never seen Avebury Manor, which might have taken some of the starch out of his attitude.

They got all of the bags, the ladies carrying a small one each.

As they entered the foyer, a tall man dressed in gray walked up and looked at Roxton and at Challenger and returned his inquiring gaze to the former.

"John?" he inquired. "By Jove, it is! My word! How we've changed. How long has it been? Nearly 20 years?" And Charles, Lord Lindemere, offered his hand to Roxton, who set down a suitcase and shook it.

Roxton peered carefully at Tremayne, recognized him, and smiled in response. "A long time, indeed," he agreed.

"We have sort of kept up with you, John," Tremayne declared. "I saw in the newspapers and in the Army List when you received the Victoria Cross during the war. And we have followed the affair of these Arabs who stole your wife and several other white ladies. I say, is this Lady Roxton, the brunette? Thomas, get some help and see to the women's' luggage. Good Lord, they're carrying their own bags."

"Whose bags should we carry?" Finn quipped.

Tremayne chuckled. "And who is this charming young lady? Your daughter, Sir? And you are...?" He looked at Challenger.

"I'm not his daughter," responded the blonde lady. "I'm Mrs. Him, Professor George Challenger, the world's preeminent scientist. We HAVE a daughter, but the children didn't come."

"Now, Darling," said an embarrassed Challenger, "I may not be absolutely the world's most eminent scientist..."

"You are, Genius. Everyone who's fair and in the know would agree. I don't say that just because I'm your woman. Johnny, please introduce us. I thought that Mr. Tremayne might recognize Prof. George Challenger."

Roxton introduced his wife and guests, and Tremayne shook hands with Challenger and nodded to the ladies.

"Professor, your fame does precede you. If I didn't know your face, I do know your name. I realize that you and Mrs. Challenger here played prominent roles in this affair in Kenya, as did Miss Wilson. Oh: do come in. I'll shut this door. The breeze is picking up, and there's a chill in the air today. Winter is lurking close at hand, I suspect." It was November, and autumn was well advanced. Trees were in Macbeth's "sere, the yellow leaf ", if they retained any leaves at all.

Another couple arrived and Giles and Clarissa Frost, Marguerite's other sibling, were announced.

Marguerite felt a chill in the room that rivaled what the wind was blowing outside. If Giles was just reserved, Clarissa, the half-sister, was as frosty as her marital name. She regarded Marguerite Roxton with suspicion, overlaid with resentment.

Lady Lindemere, Felicity by name, appeared and shook hands all around, looking at each with genuine curiosity and considerably more warmth than had Mrs. Frost.

The visitors were shown to their rooms and after freshening up, were asked to join the others in the library.

Finn took out the gold hunter cased Patek Phillipe watch that she had taken from the body of a dead slaver on the Plateau almost six years before. She had had it cleaned and the movement adjusted after arriving in Britain, but the humid jungle atmosphere had not damaged the gold-plated gears. It was among her prized possessions. She sometimes carried it in her purse although she usually wore a wristwatch these days.

She lifted her right hand, the watch open in her left. She displayed five fingers, caught the others' attention with a conspiratorial grin, and lowered one finger at a time, staring at the watch.

"What are we counting down for?" asked her husband.

"I'm timing how long it'll be before one of these native Limeys invites us to tea," she laughed. "I'm one of you now, but I miss Ned not being here to tease us about that." Ned Malone enjoyed poking fun at British rituals, like teatime.

Finn was not far off the mark, for a maid arrived just then to announce that tea was served in the library, and that the guests were expected.

In the spacious library, the newcomers met the other heirs. Apart from Marguerite's relatives, they included John Hammond,, an old friend and business acquaintance of the late Sir Malcolm; Lt. Col. Waverly, VC, Indian Army, retired, a neighbor and sometime shooting partner of the deceased lord; three other acquaintances whose names Marguerite didn't particularly register, and Tom Green, the servant in charge of the stables. Other servants were also included, but he was the only one present, other than the butler, Thomas Redgrave.

"I'm afraid that we have some bad news, "said Tremayne."Our other heir, Maj. Bentley, came down with a mysterious illness yesterday evening. He had to be taken to hospital, and we heard about two hours ago that he died. Most peculiar...He had no known illnesses, but he seemed to start bleeding internally, in his intestines, or in that area. A great pity. He was a fine man. I knew him all of my life. He was an old friend of Father's, from the Boer War. In fact, he earned the Military Cross at Spion Kop. A damned brave man. We shall miss him."

"What becomes of his share of the inheritance?" asked Challenger. "Will it go to his own heirs?"

Tremayne looked as if he had heard something distasteful. "Professor, if you must know, his share reverts to the general fund, to be shared out among the rest of us. There are a total of 16, counting the servants. So, each of us will have one sixteenth more than we would otherwise have gotten. But I'm sure that none of us had anything to do with his death, if that's what you're implying. Nor are we rejoicing at getting the added money, however much it may be."

Marguerite joined the discussion. "Please forgive the Professor if he gave the wrong impression. He wasn't accusing anyone. But we all need to know the answer to that question. Thank you for asking, George. As one of the non-heirs, the issue was perhaps best raised by you." She smiled at Challenger, who nodded back, although he seemed miffed at Tremayne's tone.

"This is really good tea," said Finn, hoping to change the subject. "Is it from Ceylon? It smells and tastes like it has a lot of Ceylon tea in it. I'm British now, and I drink enough tea to recognize different growing areas.".

Clarissa Frost glared at her. "Young woman, what do you mean that you are 'now' British? You sound more like an American."

So, Finn had to tell of her origins, omitting, of course, that she was from the future. She managed to promote her book, too, being ever alert to sales possibilities.

"I have seen that book in London stores," said Giles Frost. "It shows you in some sort of absurd getup with black shorts hardly larger than knickers, and some blonde woman in a loincloth like natives wear. I daresay that this is its main selling point? I gather that it has sold well, mainly to men who want those photos and drawings, what?" He looked smug and condescending.

Challenger rose to Finn's defense. "Sir, I resent that. My wife is an excellent writer, and she has narrated stirring deeds in that book, all true. If I did not know her, I should buy the book to read about her narrow escapes from dangerous animals and bloodthirsty Indians. And those Amazons! We had some difficulty with them, before they became friendly. One of their princesses looks much like Finn here. That seemed to sooth their anger toward us."

Felicity Tremayne spoke. "Mrs. Challenger, the tea is a family blend, done up for us by Twining's in London, in business since 1706. The base is indeed a top quality Ceylon tea. We added some leaves from the Brahmaputra Valley in India and some from Kenya. I think it's a particularly good tea. But my mother had much to do with it, so perhaps I am prejudiced. My husband actually prefers a pure Brahmaputra tea from Assam that Twining's sell as their Irish Breakfast blend. We'll see that you get to try it during your stay, although I think you may prefer their Darjeeling. Men often like the Irish type, though. It is a strong blend, rather masculine. I expect that Lord Roxton and Professor Challenger might like it." She smiled at Roxton, as women so often did. (_Author's note: Robert Twining's company continues to flourish, and sells tea in many lands. I can't post their site address here, but Search for Twining's tea. I can especially recommend their Ceylon Orange Pekoe and the Irish Breakfast, my longtime favorites and their Rooibos herbal tea from South Africa.)_

The Earl smiled back, to Marguerite's discontent. But she had to admit that Lady Lindemere was friendlier than was Mrs. Frost! She was also better looking, some years younger than Marguerite. Her medium brown hair was well styled, and her body language and breeding oozed Class. Marguerite decided that she might like her, as they became better acquainted.

Charles Tremayne took over again. "Lady Roxton, I hardly know what to say to you. We all now know that you were Father's illegitimate child, and you have been treated shamefully. I apologize for that and I hope that we can become better acquainted and perhaps behave more like your family should. Please forgive us. I simply had no idea what had become of you until the papers broke the news about this sordid affair with that Arab sultan. We had no idea that you had married an earl, and were living in England. The last we heard, you had disappeared somewhere in France, many years ago. Of course, we seldom discussed you, as the subject was taboo, at least until Mother died."

There was a knock at the door, and Thomas excused himself to answer.

In a moment, he led in Ransom and Cavendish, who shook hands all around and were seated. Another pot of tea and more little sandwiches were summoned from the kitchen.

The barristers had hardly been seated when Clarissa Frost demanded, "Have you gentlemen examined Lady Roxton? I, for one, want to know that she is in fact who she says. Did you see that damned pink birthmark?"

"Well, yes, actually, we did," said Ransom. He wore tweeds today, unlike his dark blue lawyer's attire of the visit to Avebury Manor. "We viewed the mark, and Miss Wilson there took a number of photos. I don't suppose that you've had time to process the film, Miss?"

Susan shook he head. "I asked the lab to expedite that, but they say that they are backed up, and that next Tuesday is the earliest that we can collect the photos. Of course, we swore them to a privacy agreement, for so much of Lady Roxton is on view. She was very courageous to pose so daringly. But we all saw the mark, if that's the issue, Mrs. Frost."

"Who are you again, young lady? Some sort of associate or employee of the Challengers?" Mrs. Frost was suspicious.

"Susan is my wife's secretary," explained Challenger. "She is a very astute young lady, and very diligent. If she says that the photo lab could not deliver sooner, I believe her."

Hammond smirked." It seems that you are fortunate to have so many attractive young blonde ladies around you, Professor. Are there others?"

The Frosts laughed, and others also smirked. Finn was angered. "Look, Mr. Hammond, is it? My husband only needs one blonde in the way that you mean, and I'm her. I'm all the woman he needs. Susan and we have a perfectly respectable relationship, and she is a fine secretary and a good person. We think highly of her, and I'd appreciate it if you can refrain from further insinuations like that."

"Or, you'll what?" sneered Frost. "Sue us?" The situation was becoming ugly, and Charles Tremayne looked to his wife for her response.

"Or, we'll step out back and I'll kick your arse," said Finn. She turned to her friend. "Marguerite, did I phrase that in a ladylike way?"

Lady Roxton almost choked on a cucumber and bacon sandwich. "Oh, I think you got the point across, Finny. Look, Mr. Frost, I am your relative, whether you like it or not. Please leave my friends out of your disdain and insinuation, or we aren't going to get along. The Earl and I are trying to be gracious. Perhaps you'll do the same."

Mention of Roxton's high title sobered Frost. The lord of Avebury was, after all, an earl, and probably not a man who would tolerate too much from a heckler. And Challenger had set down his cup and saucer and was looking at Frost and Hammond as if he might precede his wife in committing a violent act. This wasn't something to dismiss lightly in a man of his size and probable strength.

"I apologize, Professor, Mrs. Challenger. Miss Wilson. I was trying for levity. Apparently, I was misunderstood. I'm sure that your domestic arrangements are respectable, Professor. But we do need confirmation that Lady Roxton has the mark." Hammond seemed almost sincere.

"I told you, my partner here and I saw the mark," said Ransom. "The photos were taken, and will be available next week, if there is a serious challenge to her identity. But Mr. Frost, and Mr. Hammond, I assure you, if you seek to question the presence of the mark, you will be disappointed. It is definitely there." Cavendish nodded in confirmation.

""Ma'am?" spoke a servant girl in the doorway." Mrs. Frost? You asked to see Mrs. Wiley. She has come, and is in the kitchen."

"Who is Mrs. Wiley?" asked Roxton.

"Why, she is the daughter of the witch who saw Marguerite as a child. She has her mother's gift of 'sight' and prophecy. I asked that she meet Lady Roxton and give us her impressions." Clarissa looked triumphant.

Mrs. Wiley was led in. The Roxtons and their friends did not miss that Charles Tremayne looked embarrassed and rolled his eyes. His wife looked baffled and curious, as did most of the other heirs.

Mrs. Wiley was perhaps 50, short, with graying hair. She wore a dark dress and a plaid shawl, which the maid took and put in the hall closet. She was offered a chair, and a maid set out another cup and saucer.

But the woman stood. She walked directly over to Marguerite and stared intently at her. "I know you, Marguerite," she declared. "After all of these years, I recall you. We were children then, but you spoke Languages, and in your skin, you bear The Mark, the sign of Morrighan, the Priestess. You are her, returned, I know it! You are not normal. You are The Chosen One! I fear you and your magic. Have mercy on me." And she began to tremble.

"Good heavens," said Tremayne. He rose and led the woman to her chair and helped her to sit. "Whatever do you mean, madam?"

Mrs. Wiley shook so badly that she couldn't hold her teacup steady when Tremayne poured for her.

Marguerite gazed curiously at her and said, to break the silence, "You know, I have been looking at the china service, Lady Lindemere. Is this from Hungary? It looks quite like a set that I have at home."

Felicity rose to the occasion, also trying to change the subject while Mrs. Wiley calmed. "Why, yes, Marguerite, if I may call you by your first name. It seems that you are indeed family, after all.

"The tea service is from Herend, in Hungary. Part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, of course, until after the recent war. It is fine china. But it came from a nation that we fought in the war. How did you come by yours? This set has been in my mother's family for over a generation. The firm making it dates from 1826, I believe." Lady Lindemere looked attentively at Marguerite. She knew that her roots wouldn't have likely let her possess such good china from an exotic source before the war. (_Note: thanks to Dr. Mathilde Egyed for the data on china from Herend.)_

"I have my sources," said Lady Roxton. "I know some German merchants who sold me things that I value when they needed money after the war. They were allies of Austria-Hungary, of course, but china from Herend was sold there long before the hostilities began. If we weren't so limited in our appreciation of things from Central Europe, I daresay that British women would be more familiar with their wares." She admired the china, which had silver rims on the cups, decorated with pink and green flowers.

"I like some of their stuff, from Austria, I mean," said Finn. "I have a few Mannlicher-Schoenauer rifles, from Steyr. I shot a really big jaguar with one."

"Did you, really?" Charles Tremayne was intrigued. "I say, Mrs. Challenger, would you like to see the gun room in a while? I have a pair of Mannlichers. Shoot them when I go to Africa, and use them on deer in Scotland. I did read your book, and I must say, you seem a daring huntress! Which calibers are your rifles?"

Marguerite rolled her eyes. "Oh, God! Another one! Charles, Finny, and my husband should get on well, then. I call them The Gun People. When they get to discussing calibers, bullet designs, and which antelope have which horns, I get glassy-eyed, and impress George here into playing chess with me. The trouble is, he really is a genius. That isn't just an admiring name that his wife calls him by. So, he often beats me. Not many people can outplay me."

"Really?" asked Lady Lindemere. "Marguerite, I play chess. We must have a go at that soon. And if your husband plays bridge, Charles and I are pretty capable at that, too. We must have a foursome some time."

"Not until I've shown the Earl and Mrs. Challenger the gun room," protested Lord Lindemere. "Important things first."

The others laughed, and the ice seemed broken. Marguerite began to hope that she could bond with her siblings. If only Clarissa Frost was as friendly as her brother and his wife...

Roxton smiled dutifully at the humor, but he noticed that the Frosts and some of the other heirs weren't laughing. That included the butler, Thomas. And little Mrs. Wiley still stared fearfully at Lady Roxton.

She gulped her tea and ate two of the small sandwiches rapidly. Then she said, "Marguerite! Witch! I know thee! I shudder in thy presence. Slay me not, for I have not sinned against thee. Spare me thy spite. I merely came here because my presence was requested. I harbor no evil against thee, Powerful Spirit! I will cast no spells against thee, and ask that you cast none against me. I live a simple life, and wish no trouble from you."

"Peace be with thee", said Marguerite seriously. "I, Morrighan, release thee from my wrath. May you sleep well this night, and for all nights in your life. Depart now, with my blessing. If you cast no spells against me and mine, I will spare you from my anger and that of my companion, Merlin." She added in ancient Celtic, "Say no more ill of me, Witch, that our hearts not war. I wish you bliss if you are not my enemy."

The woman nodded, replied in the same tongue, and asked to be excused.

Everyone sat stunned as a maid escorted Mrs. Wiley out. She was offered a place at dinner with the staff, but declined, telling the maid, "I want to get away from the presence of Morrighan. She makes me quake." And nothing would persuade her to stay. A chauffeur took her home.

"My, that was...extraordinary...," commented Michael Hilliard, one of the heirs. "Lady Roxton, I think you owe us an explanation."

"I think I may be owed an explanation," Marguerite retorted. "Did that woman really know me as a child?! Where did she come up with that stuff? Is she serious, or maybe crackers? I've never heard such rubbish."

"You seemed to be familiar with her charges," said the male Frost. "And I've never heard that language that you two used. What in Hell was it?"

"Beats me," shrugged Marguerite. "I just played along with her. It may well be gibberish. I once studied ancient Celtic, and used some words that I remembered. I'm not even sure what she said back to me. Is she really a witch? In this age?"

"Better not be," joked Hammond. "They hang witches, you know. Or, is it, burn them? It's one or the other."

"Hang them on Tuesdays and burn them on Thursdays," contributed Challenger. "Unless I have that backward. Susan, have you got that down in your notes?"

"Yes, sir," said Susan, playing along. "In Europe, we hang on the schedule that you gave. In America, they burn on Tuesdays and hang on Thursdays. The reason is that the Yanks are so puritanical, they think a burning that close to the weekend gets people too excited to be quiet in church on Sunday."

Tremayne sat stunned, not believing what he was hearing. Then, he realized the prank and broke out laughing. "That's really quite good, Professor; Miss Wilson. Do you people come up with this sort of nonsense often?"

"Only when someone accuses Marguerite of the Dark Arts," said her husband. "She's really as pure as the driven snow, which is why I once dubbed her The Ice Princess. Mind you, she's warmed up quite a lot. Otherwise, I should never have married her."

Finn was showing that wide delighted grin and trying not to laugh outright. "Oh, she warmed up all right, Johnny. I happen to know that neither of your children is adopted."

"Hush!" said Marguerite, feigning outrage. "You'll give me the reputation of being either a witch or a frigid woman. I'm neither. Look, fun aside, who is that woman, and what was this really about?"

Clarissa Frost glared at her. "Well, the servants, some of them, were afraid of the stories about you. Some of the common people here heard that you were coming, and they were afraid. Many are rather superstitious, you know."

"So you had to have this miserable woman in and fan the flames, Clarissa?" Her brother was visibly upset. "The last thing we need now is simple people stirred up by a mischief maker. Balderdash! If Marguerite is our sister, we need to put the past aside and welcome her into our family...if she'll have us, after how she's been treated until now."

"As far as I know, based on what Mr. Ransom and Mr. Cavendish have said, I AM your sister, Lord Lindemere! I undressed for them to have my birthmark photographed, and I think that should answer the question as well as it's apt to ever be answered. Without a birth certificate, we'll never know more than we do now. But that birthmark is rather distinctive. What are the odds of someone else having it?"

"Astronomical, I should think," answered Lindemere. "But there is one last step, if anyone cares to check. We can just get out the birth certificate, and look at your foot print on it. I suppose that what you have now is just the adult version of it. With a magnifying glass, we can see the ridges and whatnot and prove that you are the Marguerite whom we seek."

"Well, that's fine, but I haven't got that birth certificate! A bloody Chinaman has it, and he's not about to give it to me. We had a serious falling out. In fact, he tried to have me killed." Marguerite was growing more frustrated by the moment. What did these people plan next?

"What bloody Chinaman? We have the certificate here, in the family Bible." Lindemere/Tremayne was baffled. "Your birth was a scandal, of course, so Mother had the certificate stolen from the Vital Statistics people and hidden here. We learned about it some two years ago, after her death. I don't know anything about any Chinamen. Mother bribed a clerk."

Marguerite went white, and Roxton moved his chair next to hers and put an arm around her. "Darling, you look like a ghost! Are you all right?"

Marguerite opened and closed her mouth twice before she managed to speak." Then, what Shanghai Xan told me was a lie? He doesn't have that paper? I must see the certificate, and I want to have my foot checked against the print on it. We all need to know who I really am!"

Cavendish agreed. "Will you please bring the certificate, Lord Lindemere? We need to be certain of ourselves before the will is read, obviously."

"I'll get it," said Lady Lindemere. She rose and left the room.

"Who is Shanghai Xan?" wondered Lindemere.

Marguerite shook her head. "That's a part of my past that I don't wish to discuss just now. He's a Chinese gang lord who lied to me to get me to run an errand for him in exchange for getting my birth certificate. He knew how desperately I wanted to be sure of my origins and he must have faked the document that he showed me." It was obvious that she was angry beyond expression.

There was an uncomfortable silence until Lady Lindemere returned, paper in hand. She showed the document to both the Roxtons and to the lawyers. All agreed that it seemed authentic.

They went to the guest bathroom on the first floor, and Marguerite removed the boot and stocking from her right foot. Someone produced a magnifying glass, and she submitted to her sole being inked and placed on a large sheet of drawing paper. Lady Lindemere, being an amateur artist, had that available.

Then, Marguerite cleaned off her foot and donned the stocking and boot as everyone adjourned to a front window, where bright natural light illuminated the paper. Challenger looked, and then passed the glass to Ransom, then to Cavendish. The Lindemeres were next, as everyone watched.

"Well?" demanded Marguerite. Am I the real Marguerite Tremayne, or not?"

"Hell, no," said her husband. "You're Marguerite Roxton. I have a marriage certificate that says so. However, gentlemen, what is your verdict?" He knew what he had seen, and Challenger caught his eye and nodded.

Ransom spoke for all of them. "You are without question Marguerite Tremayne, although your father never claimed you until recently. You are now, by virtue of his will, his acknowledged daughter. Congratulations, Lady Roxton. You now know for certain your origin."

Marguerite took the sheet of paper and gazed at it. "I suppose that we had better entrust this to you legal men, but I want a certified copy, as soon as possible. I have waited for all of my life to learn this fact, and I will not be without proof again."

"Certainly, Lady Roxton," agreed Cavendish. "We will have certified copies made early next week, and file them with your photos of the birthmark. There is no further cause for doubt. And, you may wish to claim the birth certificate, itself, or certainly to replicate it for insertion into the parish records and have copies for all concerned."

Marguerite breathed easier. "John, I want to go sit down again and talk with my brother and sisters. Will you stay with me?"

"Naturally," said her husband. "I married you for better or for worse, and this is probably some of the better. Marguerite, I am so glad for you to have this great burden lifted from your heart." He pulled her to him and kissed her brow.

She took his hand and they returned to their chairs

Later, the group broke up into smaller units of people with common interests who discussed the day's events in light of their own expectations. Some simply drifted off to their rooms, to rest before dinner. Four started a bridge game.

Lindemere and his lady escorted the Roxtons and the Challengers to the gun room, as promised. There Marguerite and Felicity sat by a fireplace and talked, often touching as they caught up on who they were and what they were like. They seemed to be bonding rapidly. Felicity showed her sister-in-law some valuable and interesting items in the room, including the art, as her husband and the Challengers, with Lord Roxton, examined the guns and admired hunting trophies from three generations of Lindemeres.

Finn asked many questions and handled the guns with obvious relish, as did Roxton. Challenger was less enthused, but interested, and happy to see his wife and his best male friend so entranced.

After, Finn wandered the room, looking at the mounted animals, trailed by her man and their companions, who were talking. She patted the head of a tiger that was full mounted, the taxidermist having portrayed it as ready to pounce on the luckless visitor. Challenger hoped that young children entering the room for the first time were warned about this, or they might well be genuinely frightened, so real did it look.

"Hey!" exclaimed Finn. "What happened to his whiskers?" She noted the absence. "It looks like someone took scissors and cut them off. See? There's some stubble."

"That's odd," said Lindemere. "I swear there were whiskers on that mount. I used to play with it as a boy." Puzzled, he walked over to a tiger rug mounted on the wall. It, too, was missing the whiskers.

On investigation, three of the four tigers mounted in the room were found to have had their whiskers snipped off.

"How very odd," said Lady Lindemere. "I've never noticed that before, but I haven't really looked, since Charles and I married seven years ago. I saw the trophies then, and a few times before, but haven't really checked them since. And we didn't move in here until his father died. We have another home nearby."

"Most curious," agreed Challenger. "Perhaps children did this?"

Charles shook his head. "Our children are too young to come in here often, and we have just recently moved in, as you heard. They are, by the way, at our old house this weekend, with the nannies and our butler. Thomas was Father's butler," he explained.

"Well, we should get them replaced," said his wife. "They look awful that way, Darling. Will you call the taxidermist in London, and see what can be done? I suppose the whiskers aren't real, anyway. They must have some substitutes that can be installed."

"Yes, certainly," said Lindemere. "Next week, as soon as this inheritance business has been settled, I'll deal with that. How very odd..."

Further speculation was stifled by the butler arriving to announce that dinner would be served in 20 minutes.

Everyone excused themselves to freshen up, and the matter was forgotten for the moment. Only later did they realize that they had stumbled onto an important clue in a murder.

Dinner went reasonably well, with the family and their guests finding much to discuss. Most were in good spirits, anticipating receiving inheritances.

The Frosts were more reserved than others, and two additional couples were hardly eager to greet Marguerite Roxton and the shame that her birth had brought to the Lindemere name.

John Hammond, who had been sarcastic earlier, made a few barbed remarks, shushed at times by his wife, Theresa.

Louis Durning-Havilland and his wife, Elaine, also seemed rather prim and looked at the new heiress as if she left a bad taste in their mouths. He was a longtime friend of the present Lord Lindemere, and was familiar with the whole sordid matter. His wife was even more reluctant to accept Marguerite, partly because she was very class conscious. She resented that someone to whom she referred in private as, "that illegitimate guttersnipe" could marry into the nobility, especially to an Earl.

Other unhappy persons included Martin Randt, a cousin of Lindemere, who had something of a low reputation. He was a former Royal Navy officer who had been cashiered for incompetence, excessive drinking, and cruelty to the sailors under his command. His gravest sin had been getting drunk and allowing a destroyer to run aground. That had been the last straw for the Admiralty, already suspicious that he had stolen from unit funds. This latter charge was never proven, and Lord Lindemere had pulled some political strings on his behalf. Randt had been sent packing, but had avoided prison. His shipmates had breathed easier with his going. The Roxtons and the Challengers recalled the lawyers' warning about him, given at Avebury Manor.

He had since gained a reputation as a gambler who still had occasional problems with overuse of the whiskey bottle. Tonight, he had had one drink before dinner, and was taking greater advantage of his host's generosity than were most. Lindemere opened another bottle of Chateau Latour, in large measure to refill Randt's glass. He decided that this was the last bottle that needed to be opened for this particular meal.

Lindemere had never liked Randt, from his mother's side of the family. Randt was often surly, had borrowed money that he never repaid, and was leering at several ladies that night, especially at Mrs. Challenger.

Donald Smythe-White, a widower, also looked askance at the Roxtons and the Challengers. But he looked sourly at most others, too. He was some sort of supplier to a company founded by the late Lord Lindemere, and seemed a joyless sort. He was bland, and said little, if depressing others by his very manner.

All went well otherwise, and Finn was thrilled to be asked about her book. She and Susan discussed her next volume, a novel this time. "It's a jungle adventure, "she noted, "but it's fiction, and not about any of us from the Challenger Expedition. I had to create all of the characters and what they did. It was, like, _tres cool."_

Seeing blank looks on most faces, she hastened to rephrase her description, using only words typical of the times.

Randt was getting drunk. He said, "So, your first book wasn't fiction, too? You expect us to believe that you did all of those things, like some supergirl?"

"Now, Martin," began Lady Lindemere...

"No, wait, I want to hear the lady's answer," said Smythe-White. "She doesn't seem to me to be able to overpower some wild Indian warrior and save her friends from pseudo Aztecs."

"Well, she did, and I saw it. Are you questioning my veracity?" asked Lord Roxton quietly. But there was no mistaking his anger.

The two hecklers looked at him and at Prof. Challenger, who was eyeing them with a scowl, and shook their heads.

"Let's talk about something else," suggested Lindemere. And they did.

But after dinner, as the ladies were going into the living room to have sherry and conversation while the men had brandy and cigars in the den, Randt got in front of Finn in a hallway. Drunk by now, he stood in her way, and pushed her as she tried to get past. "I'm calling your bluff, bitch," he declared. "Let's see how tough you are. You told Hammond earlier that you'd take him out back and kick his arse. Let's see you kick mine, eh? Either do it or give me a kiss. One or the other!"

"Mr. Randt, you are in my way. Please move," said Finn. Susan stood behind Finn, her hand going to her mouth in alarm. She began looking for their hosts or Lord Roxton. Randt was a big, stocky man, and his mood was ugly.

"Come on, honey," Randt said. "Kiss me, and I'll let you off the hook."

Finn turned to leave, and Randt grabbed her from behind. She stepped quickly to the side, the edge of her right hand knifing back into her attacker's testicles. He screamed in pain and released her. She spun, raised her skirt enough to let her legs move, and slammed her knee into his chest, knocking him flat on his back. She reached into her bra and extracted a small knife that she wore clipped there. Pivoting the blade open with one hand, she said coolly, "Come at me again, you creep, and I'll cut you, bad. I'm only saying that once. But I mean it." She took Susan's arm and pulled her along as she walked briskly toward the living room.

Others had seen, and Lady Lindemere called for her husband and Lord Roxton. Told what had happened, both men went after Randt in an unhappy state of mind.

Hauling him to his feet, Roxton told Randt savagely that Mrs. Challenger was like his little sister, and that any further provocation would be dealt with, summarily and effectively.

"By you?" Randt sneered. "I can take you, Roxton. I ought to punch you for marrying that illegitimate whore and causing all of this fuss in the family, anyway!"

Before Lindemere could intervene, Roxton socked Randt in the jaw so forcefully that Randt's feet actually left the floor before he lurched backward and struck the carpet with a heavy thud.

"Hit him again, Johnny!" yelped Finn, in glee. "I don't like what he called Marguerite." Several people cheered, including Lady Lindemere. Lady Roxton flushed in shame and anger. She turned abruptly and went up to her room, followed by her husband, who refrained from kicking Randt purely because the man was unconscious.

"Now, see here," called Lindemere. We've had quite enough of this tonight. Someone help me get Randt up to his room and put him to bed. We'll let him sleep it off. He can remain here until after the will is read, as the solicitors have advised me that he has a right to hear it. But after this weekend, he will no longer be welcome in this house. I apologize for what has happened. Please, everyone, proceed as you were before this unfortunate incident occurred."

Thomas and another servant named Bill appeared and helped to carry Randt's limp body upstairs.

"You certainly handled that nicely, dear," said Theresa Hammond to Finn Challenger. "Wherever did you learn to do that? It was awfully exciting, and that man had it coming, if you ask me. He was such a nasty fellow. He has a pretty rum reputation, you know."

Finn was surrounded by well wishers, asking if she and Susan were all right. "I'm fine," she admitted. "But I'd be finer yet if I can get a glass of sherry and some cake. Are we still on for the living room meeting?" She pressed the internal lock to her knife and closed the blade. (_For a discussion of Finn's locking-blade folding knife, see the notes about her copying the 21st Century Gerber Applegate-Fairbairn design in the fic, "A Husband's Anger", in our Mature stories. On this occasion, she was carrying the smallest of the three sizes, very much like what Gerber calls their Mini-Covert. Check laws before carrying any size of these knives. They may not be legal in some jurrisdictions.)_

Assured that the ladies would indeed meet as planned, she led Susan into the room after the others. Susan's eyes were wide with admiration. "You sure did that well, boss," she said.

"Had to," said Finn. "I tried to walk away. Next time, I'm killing him if I can, or calling George and Johnny and letting them deal with him. He's had his one chance with me. He's too big for me to fool with, and he'll be alert next time."

But matters ended better than she'd expected when several of the men came in and asked if she had copies of her book to sell. In her element again, she grinned charmingly as she got the books from her room and autographed them, to the men's' delight.

John Roxton found Marguerite sitting on the edge of their bed, sobbing. Pain from deep within her fed a fountain of tears long suppressed.

"Darling, it's all right," Roxton told her. He sat beside her and held her as she wept. His hand smoothed her hair as he spoke softly and lovingly to her until the shaking subsided and she was able to speak instead of sob.

"Oh, John, what a lot of rotters! Am I to bear the stigma of my birth forever?" She turned to him, her head on his shoulder, crying more softly now, but with as much pain as before.

"Marguerite, get hold of yourself. Look at who has accepted you and who has not. You'll find that the Tremaynes are fine people, and most of the others seem to be overlooking your origins or at least not mentioning them. If there is any fault attached to your birth, it attaches to your parents. Why not ask if your mother is still alive? She might even want to meet you! If not, it is her loss. You are my wife, regardless of how you arrived in this world, and I will not trade you for the highest-born princess in Europe! Nor would our children, or our friends. You have nothing of which to be ashamed."

"Thank you, John. I've made fools of us, haven't I?" She worried how her abrupt exit reflected on him and on the Challengers.

"No," he lied. "You've just been a woman. Considering the burden that you have borne for all of your life, it isn't surprising if you were upset at the way that some of those people have acted. I punched Randt out, and he'll regret it in the morning. He'll regret it a damned sight more if he refuses to apologize. I may let Finn carve him up with her little knife. No, I'll have the satisfaction of hitting him again, myself, That felt good. To me, not to Randt, of course. I'm as proud of you as if you had been born in Buckingham Palace. I'm even more proud that you have chosen to marry me and live at Avebury Manor. The other women here are just jealous." He kissed her tenderly. "Now, wipe away those tears, fix your makeup, and go have some sherry. If you want to stay with me, we'll go down together for awhile, then come right back up here. And if you don't feel like being ravished to slake my wild lusts tonight, we'll just hold one another and cuddle while I tell you again that you are the woman of my dreams, and that no petty issue of your birth will ever change that."

"Oh, John," she sobbed, clinging to him until she regained control. "All right, I'll clean up. It is sort of insulting to the Tremaynes if I don't go down and socialize a bit. And they seem like nice people."

Roxton reminded her that the Tremaynes weren't just their hosts, but her family. "And they seem quite willing to have you among them," he pointed out. "Anyway, this will all be over in a couple of days, and we'll go home. The dogs there love you." He kissed her cheek as she smiled wanly at his teasing reference to their hounds.

Someone rapped softly on their door. "Marguerite? It's Felicity. May I have a word with you? Please?"

The Roxtons looked at one another. Marguerite called, "Just a moment." She busied herself with a tissue paper, drying the tears and running mascara before she answered the door

""Felicity, I'm awfully sorry about leaving so abruptly," Marguerite apologized. "But when that man said what he did about my origins...," she sniffled, hating herself for it.

Lady Lindemere was sympathetic. "Oh, Marguerite, don't worry. That's why I came: to tell you that Charles and I understand. And to tell you that we hope that you'll come back down if you feel up to it. No worries about that lout Randt. Your husband knocked him cold. It's a wonder that he didn't break his skull on landing. Thank God, that carpet is thick. We replaced it just last month. Charles and some men took Randt up to his room to sleep it off. It was just the liquor speaking, you see. He doesn't hold it well.

"And everyone seems in a good mood. Your friend Mrs. Challenger and her husband are entertaining everyone with tales from her book, and about her new novel. I shall have to buy that. It sounds quite good. Anyway, come down with me if you're able, and have a glass of sherry. It's from Harvey's of Bristol, a full cream sherry. We have some little nut bread cakes to accompany it, and some nuts. And I want to be seen with you, making it very clear that you are my long lost sister-in-law, and that Charles and I fully support you as a member of our family. We resent what Randt said and what others have thought. We family members need to close ranks and put an end to rude talk. We owe you that."

She glanced at Lord Roxton, winked, and said, "But your husband has to promise not to get drunk and hit anyone else. Will you settle for one knockout, in the first round, John? May I call you by your first name?

Roxton smiled back. "If my wife approves. She's picky about which beautiful women I'm on a first name basis with." He winked back.

"All right, you two," said Marguerite. "Let me fix my ruined face and we'll go down together. And Felicity, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You are wonderful, to say what you just did. It means the world to me."

"Well, I'm glad to at last meet the notorious missing sister. I think we'll be good friends, Marguerite. I'm only sorry that so much time passed before we met."

And the three went down to the party, where Charles Tremayne joined his wife, his half -sister, and his brother-in-law, the Earl of Avebury.

The original idea of the men separating for brandy and cigars had fallen by the wayside for some. The sexes mixed in the living room, where Finn was holding court, signing autographs and taking book orders as her husband described their adventures in the Amazon, on that remote Plateau that had taken so much from them, but given them much, also, including one another...

Roxton took note of which men were in the den, and which hovered around Finn, hearing her and George talk, or just trying to glance down Finn's low-cut dress. Some were also eyeing Susan Wilson with interest, and she was fending off passes, trying to be polite while still not accepting any overtures.

The Frosts stood apart and made no effort to join the Roxtons and the Tremaynes. Some other men were in the den, and their ladies were clustered together, trying to decide how to treat Marguerite. Eventually, several came over to talk and to offer nuts and the sherry decanter.

Roxton was courteous, but reserved with those people who sought to ingratiate themselves with him socially because of his title. He stayed by Marguerite's side, and after a time, the couple excused themselves, pleading the late hour.

The Challengers and Susan joined the Roxtons on the way to the stairs. Finn gleefully announced that she and Susan had taken orders for 30 books, and some men had asked to be told when the novel was released. Susan had duly taken their names and addresses. Challenger was vexed that some man who had taken too much drink had argued with him over whether television was possible.

"Don't sweat it, Genius," answered his wife. "Some people still think the earth is flat. In fact, I hope it is, because I am about to fall on my back into bed, and I don't want to risk rolling off the planet when I do." She giggled and slapped Susan on the back. "Thirty copies sold! This trip was worthwhile, if we manage nothing else. But Marguerite will probably inherit millions, and take us all on safari again. Right, Marguerite?"

Her wide grin made Marguerite smile. When she was feeling "down", Finnykins could usually be counted on for some outrageous remark or prank to cheer her up. Illegitimate or not, I have friends who love me, and the greatest man in the world, she reflected. And nice dogs, too, as John pointed out. She laughed at that, and all was well with her again. And she was getting acquainted with the Tremaynes, who were being very supportive. The night hadn't all gone poorly, she decided. Maybe even Randt would apologize in the morning.

Challenger declared his desire to have a bath before bed. Finn asked if he wanted her to join him, and make the occasion more than a bath.

He chuckled, but said, "Darling, I think I'll beg off on that tonight. I am dead tired."

"Suits," she replied. "I'm bushed, too. There's something about travelling that makes me tired for a day or so. I'll see you in bed, then."

She hung up their clothes, and then decided that she wanted a final look that night at the huge black bull buffalo head that hung on the wall downstairs, across from the staircase. She opened the door, peeped out to be sure that the coast was clear, then slipped out and went to the head of the stairs. She was wearing only brief black panties and her black lace demi-bra, the little knife still clipped between the cups.

She knelt down and peered through the wooden bars at the head of the stairs, admiring the horns of the buffalo, which Charles Tremayne had told her measured a bit over 58 inches at the widest point.

"Someday, I'm going to shoot a buffalo that big," she resolved. Having almost been killed by a smaller bull on their recent Kenya safari, she was sobered by the risk in hunting those large bovines. But her adventurous spirit prevailed, and she had faith in her skill with her .400 Jeffery double-barreled rifle.

She started and almost reached for the knife clipped between her breasts as she heard someone move down the hall in what she knew was Martin Randt's room. There was a thrashing noise in there, and she feared that the big man had recovered enough to come looking for her or Roxton. It sounded as if he was raging about the room, maybe throwing things.

Great, she thought. He wakes up while George is in the bathtub! Feeling exposed, she scampered back into their room and locked the door.

Taking out her suitcase, she unlocked it and took out her Smith & Wesson .38 Special revolver and loaded it. If Randt bashed in her door, it would be the final thing that he did on Earth...

When Challenger came in from brushing his teeth, Finn replaced him in the bathroom, armed with her own toothbrush. She cautioned him about Randt, and he growled something unpleasant as he opened his suitcase and produced a Colt .45 automatic like Roxton's. He had been keeping one near to hand for several months, especially when travelling, as it was flatter and more compact than his frontier -style Colt .45 Peacemaker that he had worn for so many years on the Plateau and in Africa.

Finn returned, smelling fresh and sweetly feminine from some scented soap that she had found. She removed her bra, unclipped her small folding knife, and examined the bra between the cups, where the spring steel knife clip had been. The material was scuffed lightly, probably from when she had drawn the knife downstairs that night. She had been in a rush, and evidently not pulled the clip all the way loose before jerking out the knife. It had dragged on the bra, damaging the lace trim a little.

Swearing, she showed her husband, who made appropriate sympathetic sounds. Privately, he was just glad that she had not had to use the knife. Tomorrow, he meant to have a word with a sobered Randt, and warn him away from Finn. Challenger was worried not only about what Randt might do to her, but what the police and a Crown prosecutor might do to his wife if she did something that they thought went beyond the reasonable bounds of lawful deadly force. Finn tended to think in terms of defending herself first and worrying about strict legal standards later. And she still harbored some of the Brazilian concept of honor killings, not the "done thing" in the UK.

The couple was soon in bed, the lights out. Challenger praised the way that she smelled, saying that she should ask Felicity Tremayne where she got the soap. "I quite like that," he told her. "Not that you don't smell terrific all the time, anyway."

She laughed and kissed him. "Flattery will get you everywhere with me, Genius. Still too tired to fool around tonight, or do you want my knickers off?'" She played with him with her cool, skilled hands, and he almost reconsidered his decision to abstain from sex.

"I am tired," he decided. "Unless you're seriously in heat, let me take a rain check until morning. We can work up an appetite before we go down to breakfast."

"Okay," she conceded. "But if you're going to want me then, put these on the nightstand, anyway, so that they aren't in your way when you decide to start groping me for effect." She made a shrugging motion with her legs under the covers and passed him her panties.

Then, she snuggled next to him, and after talking for perhaps 15 minutes, they slept the rest of the weary. But first, Finn got up and wedged a chair against the door handle, in case Martin Randt came looking for her or George.

CHAPTER FOUR

The following morning, they were still half asleep, about seven AM, their hands questing around one another's bodies, trying to decide if they were awake enough to ravish one another, enjoying the kissing and caressing that would soon lead to impassioned lovemaking.

Someone knocked on the Roxtons' door next to them, and they heard excited voices. Paying little attention, they soon heard rapping on their own door.

"I hope that isn't that bloody man, Randt," muttered George, reaching for his .45. He stumbled out of bed, leaving Finn reaching for her own gun before pulling a sheet around her naked body.

Donning a robe, Challenger removed the chair from beneath the doorknob and unchained the door. He kept the Colt out of sight, his thumb on the safety, the hammer cocked.

It was not Randt who stood there, but Tremayne and his wife, the Roxtons coming out from their room behind them. Like the Challengers, the Roxtons had been roused from intended lust, and were wearing robes. Marguerite looked flushed from passion.

"Have you heard about Randt?" asked the lord of the manor.

"Yes, Finn and others told me about his conduct last night," answered Challenger. Why the devil was this issue being raised at this hour? "I mean to have a word with him later this morning. If he threatens my wife again, I shall address the matter appropriately."

"So, you don't know?" Felicity Tremayne nodded. "I rather thought that you would not. Martin was found an hour ago at the bottom of the stairs. His neck is broken. I suppose that he must have still been drunk, and tried to go downstairs for something. He must have stumbled, and now he's dead!"

Breakfast was a sober occasion, the guests drifting in in small groups as they rose. The news had spread, and no one liked it. But Randt had not been popular, and some seemed relieved that he was gone.

The coroner had come, and said that the death seemed suspicious. But he was unable to say for sure that it wasn't an accident. The police had come, and questioned everyone, to see if there was a motive for murder. Two deaths there in one week was in itself enough to raise an eyebrow in the police mentality.

The Challengers and the Roxtons were interviewed at some length. Investigators seemed very interested in a bump on the back of Randt's head, where he had hit the carpet after Roxton's devastating blow. The coroner confirmed that it was a possible issue, and might have led to his falling on the stairs. On the other hand, the blow might have been sustained in the fall, not from what Roxton had done.

"But everyone here has confirmed that Mr. Randt had had too much to drink, so I believe that precludes any official conclusion that Lord Roxton's hitting him was the cause of his death," the coroner concluded. He turned to the chief police officer present. "Inspector, unless you find other cause to charge someone, I think that we are done here. I will list the death as, 'suspicious', but probably accidental."

He took the detective aside and added, "Joe, let's be practical here. The Earl of Avebury is too prominent a man to charge unless the evidence is airtight, and it isn't. He has the strength to break this sod's neck, but his wife will swear that he was with her when it happened. And they probably were in bed, as they say. Mrs. Challenger might have used a judo move to throw him down the stairs, but the way that the neck was broken leads me to incline more in the direction of a powerful man twisting it from behind. Prof. Challenger could have done it, but we have nothing to prove that he even saw Randt after they retired. Mrs. Challenger said that there was some noise from his room, and it is a mess. But I cannot say whether he was in a drunken rage, or if someone fought with him. In short, mate; we're screwed, unless a viable witness comes forward. And that's about as likely to happen as us being included in the will that this lot have come to hear read."

The inspector nodded. "About what I'd figured, Doc. All right, we'll shove off with the remains of the late Mr. Randt. His background alone is enough to incline a jury to agree that Roxton was justified in hitting him. If he'd called my wife an 'illegitimate whore', I'd probably have socked him, too. I guess we're done here then. I'll tell his friggin' lordship and his guests to get back to their highfalutin doings. But I really hope that there are no more mysterious deaths here soon. The bloody papers will have a field day with it."

He turned to Lord Lindemere and told him of his conclusions, and the lord graciously asked if he would care for any refreshment before he left. The inspector did take tea and some eggs, eaten with the servants, who he attempted to pump for more information. But they stonewalled him, not having much liking for police, and being loyal to the Tremaynes. He decided that he would have fared better had he eaten with the gentry. They were mildly condescending, but more courteous. And some of those women were better looking than the two who served his breakfast...He concluded that he was happy that he had found no cause to charge Mrs. Challenger, in particular. She was pretty, bright, and funny, if a little subdued over the morning's events. The inspector resolved to buy her book.

But when he told her this, she insisted on taking his name and address, telling him that she would send the book, if he would show it around to others who might buy one. This brightened his day, for a policeman's pay was such that buying expensive books was a sometime thing. Especially if his wife saw the pictures of the women in this one!

As the police and coroner left and matters returned to normal, Lindemere asked what his guests would like to do.

Marguerite said that she had seen stables as they drove up, and asked if she might ride.

"Certainly", said her host. "In fact, I think I'll join you. It's a nice, crisp morning, and I need some fresh air to clear my head, after this awful mess about Randt."

He turned to his wife. "Darling, will you join us? Roxton?"

They agreed, as did several others.

Finn and George looked at each other. Finn shrugged, and said, "Why not, Genius? And I want to talk to the Tremaynes and see if there's any shooting we can do. Maybe bump off a fox in the henhouse? I think it might be useful to make friends here."

Her mate concurred, although he was somewhat reluctant to ride horses.

So, they sent word to the stables to saddle eight mounts, and prepared to ride. The guests had not brought riding clothes, so no real galloping over obstacles was contemplated. But a trot through the woods was a pleasant prospect.

Marguerite and Finn were the same size when wearing many clothes, and Lady Lindemere found spare riding outfits that fit both. They were pleased, for riding horses did tend to leave stains and smells that women didn't want on their dressier attire.

They set out for the stables, having no idea of what was about to happen to Marguerite...

Marguerite was given a bay gelding by the stable master. "His name is Jock, Missy, " he said. "After the Jock Scott pattern of salmon fly, which the lord fishes so well on the river. He's a good horse, if missing a bit of his original anatomy." He chuckled.

Marguerite rolled her eyes. Cheeky bastard, she thought. But she decided to be ladylike and thanked him as she mounted.

Roxton had a black stallion, with Finn getting a white mare and Challenger a Palomino imported from the USA.

Marguerite and Finn had black jackets and caps with their khaki riding trousers and tall black boots.

Lady Lindemere had chosen a red jacket and white pants, as did her husband. The sort of gear they wore when riding to the hounds, after foxes…

The other guests rode off in other directions, with the Lindemeres, the Roxtons, and the Challengers riding together as a family group.

Lindemere showed them around the estate, showing considerable pride in his ancestral home. His wife looked at Marguerite and both women smiled. "Is John this proud of Avebury?" asked Felicity.

Marguerite laughed. "I'm afraid so. But I've also grown very fond of it. It is a wonderful home, and I feel very happy there. A fantastic place to raise our children!"

Lindemere smiled and took his wife's hand briefly. "Don't make fun of me, Felicity," he teased. "You love it here as much as I do."

She laughed back and told Marguerite, "That's the trouble with marrying a man. He gets to know your inner thoughts."

Marguerite smiled, too, and looked at her husband, who shook his head in mock despair at knowing the inner thoughts of women. As if he really ever would...

Finn grinned at Challenger, who chuckled softly. He rode up beside her and squeezed her hand as they rode.

Unseen by them, a man stood in a copse of trees high on a nearby hill. He watched through a binocular as they came, galloping up the road that would soon lead them to pass beneath him.

He looked briefly at Lady Roxton, seeing her smile and interact with her husband and the other two couples. She was a lovely woman, pleasing to observe, even to desire. And the previous night, he had lain awake after meeting her. Wanting her, fantasizing about what they might do together, had she not married an earl. Yes, she was a charming woman. It was a pity that she had to die

As the three couples approached a steep hillside, the man heaved against a boulder. He got it loose as they cantered past below, and sent it rolling down the rocky hillside.

He knew these horses well, and all might bolt at the sight of the falling boulder. But old Jock was nervous, and especially quick to shy at anything unusual.

It was just as the man hoped; the horses all neighed and dodged the danger. But Jock broke into a full gallop, leaving Marguerite Roxton holding onto the reins like a drowning sailor seizing desperately at the ropes dangling from a life buoy.

Roxton saw, and diverted his mount around the Tremaynes, who were the lead couple. The Challengers reined in their horses, stopping short of the heavy rock, which careened across the road and went bouncing down the hillside, to land in the wide stream below.

Bad language was heard, and then the four riders charged after the Roxtons, hoping to help before Marguerite was thrown from the frightened Jock.

As they rushed in pursuit of the panicked horse, Finn leaned over and shouted to her man, "Genius, I think I saw somebody up there where that big rock came from!"

"We'll look in a moment," he called back. "First, we'd better see if we can catch that nag that ran off with Marguerite!

The lady in question was having no luck at reining in Jock. The horse was thoroughly panic stricken, and the saddle began to slip. Marguerite realized that the cinch strap had loosened or stretched, and she was lucky not to have been thrown off already.

"Hold on, Marguerite. I'm coming!" shouted her husband. He spurred his heels into the ribs of his steed, hoping to catch Jock before Marguerite was forcibly dismounted. It was at that point that the cinch gave way completely and Marguerite felt her saddle coming off the back of the terrified horse!

"Marguerite!" howled a horrified Roxton. "Hold on! I'm nearly there!

He swung up alongside Marguerite as the cinch parted, and Marguerite and the saddle were violently flung off of the excited horse.

Roxton caught his love and pulled her to him, swerving aside to let the falling saddle clear his own mount.

As soon as he could, he halted the horse, and let his wife down, dismounting, himself.

Marguerite was all right, save for what looked like the beginnings of a bruise on her right cheek. She said that her leg hurt a bit, too, and they stepped into some brush and she lowered the riding pants. Sure enough, the leg showed some scuffing and another bruise. But she was otherwise well, a miracle, considering.

The other couples had seen what had happened. While the Roxtons checked Marguerite for injuries, the Challengers and Lord Lindemere trotted back and dismounted by the fallen saddle.

"Jolly odd, that," said Tremayne. "It looked as if the cinch broke. Never seen that happen before, except in Western movies."

They carefully examined the strap that held the saddle onto the horse, and Challenger muttered, "You know, I think this has been cut partway through. Probably just enough to make it give the rest of the way if the horse broke into a good run. This is sabotage! I'll look at it later under a microscope, but I'm almost sure that that is what happened. And Finn saw someone up on the hill just before that boulder came bouncing down at us. That may have been to frighten the horse."

Tremayne looked sober. "If someone has tried to kill my sister, I'll have his guts for garters! And if this was deliberate, the villain could not have known if the rest of us might be injured by that rock. He was very careless with our lives, on top of wanting to kill or harm Marguerite. I say, Roxton! How is she?" He looked at the Roxtons as they rejoined the group.

Told the extent of the damage - almost none- Lindemere sighed with relief. "Let's get this saddle home," he said. "I want to question the men in the stable and see who saddled that horse. Marguerite, can you ride with John or Felicity?"

"I want to take a look up there where that boulder came from," commented Challenger. He turned to his wife. "Darling, are you armed?"

She nodded, and they and Lord Lindemere found a way up to the place where Finn had seen someone. Sure enough, careful examination of the ground revealed footprints, and there was a stout stick that had probably been used to lever the rock out of place.

Lindemere's face was grim. "We'll get to the bottom of this," he promised. "and someone is going to be very sorry for what almost happened here today."

Once home, he sent for the stable master.

"He's not 'ere, Sir," said Bowen, one of the hands. "Mr. Green left for town soon after you went out on the 'orses."

Finn tried not to smile at the Cockney accent, which always amused her.

"Well, tell him that I want to speak to him straightaway when he gets back," ordered Lindemere. "And two of you chaps get this saddle up to the main house. I want to store it there until I decide why it broke. Cinch gave way."

"Coo!" said a hand named Davey. "Look at this, Your Lordship! This saddle ain't one of ours, and the cinch has been buggered. Looks half cut through, I'd say." He looked shocked and a little frightened.

"Yes, something very wrong has happened here," said the Lord. "Get this up to the house then, Davey, and store it in a spare room for now. Did Green say when he's due back?"

Davey shrugged. "Couldn't rightly say, Sir. He didn't tell us."

In the manor, Lindemere sent for tea and cakes and telephoned the police. While he told the inspector who had been there earlier what had happened, a maid collected the mail from the box out front.

She was on the way to the den with it when Lady Lindemere saw, and called her over. "Here, Wendy, just give me that. I'm expecting something."

Angela handed her the mail, and Felicity sat at the small telephone table across from her husband. She motioned for a knife, and he passed her his pocketknife.

She opened two bills, rolled her eyes at what things cost these days, and then saw an envelope that was addressed in a female hand. It was without a return address, and she didn't recognize the writing. Curious, she slit the flap and took out a sheet of cheap note paper.

Unfolding it, she read; "It is written: 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!' "

Seeing her shocked expression and her hand go to her mouth, Lindemere took the note and read it. His eyebrows shot up, and he told the police inspector what had come in the mail.

"Right," said that gentleman. "Stow it somewhere safe where no one else gets their fingerprints on it, eh? I'm involved in some other mess just now, and have to be in court in an hour. This afternoon, I'll be along to have a look at it. Save the envelope, too, of course."

Lindemere said that he would, and they hung up.

"Charles, we have to tell the Roxtons about this. It's the decent thing to do, and Marguerite may be in even greater danger than we know. Who would write such a cruel thing?" Felicity Tremayne was both frightened and angry.

Her husband nodded. He saw Roxton crossing the room, headed for the den. He flagged him down and showed him the note, cautioning him not to touch it.

Lord Roxton's jaw tightened. "This is absurd," he pronounced. "I think that Marguerite is in real danger, probably from some nutty cult concerned that she is a witch."

"Yes," agreed Felicity. "In this day and age, who'd think that people believe in witchcraft? It boggles the mind!"

"Well," smiled the Earl, "there was a time when Marguerite acted rather 'witchy', but she's since mellowed, and I wouldn't trade her for a queen. Look, she needs to see this. She may have an idea who'd send it. And I want her to be aware that that saddle cinch may not be an isolated attempt to harm her. The Challengers should read this, too."

"They seem very close to you," observed Lord Lindemere. "Have you been friends for long? I gather that you were all on that expedition of the professor's?"

"Yes," agreed Roxton. "George and Finn met there, in Brazil. And we all grew quite close. They are like siblings to Marguerite and me. The four of us, and our friends the Ned Malones, are a virtual family. But the Malones returned to Brazil after our well publicized safari this spring." ( See, "On Safari" on this board.)

He spied Challenger coming out of the library with Finn and Marguerite. "George!" he called. "You three come over here. There is something that you need to read!"

They read the note, looking at one another with baffled-but-outraged expressions.

"I know what that means," said Finn. "I learned this Bible stuff from George when I was learning to read English." She carefully omitted that she couldn't read any other languages then, either, save for some biohazard warning signs.

"'Suffer' in this sense means to allow. Right, Genius?" Finn remembered asking what Jesus had meant when saying, "Suffer the little children to come unto me."

"That's right, Darling," her man agreed. "But if I get my hands on whoever wrote this, I'll make her 'suffer' in another sense.

"Does anyone recognize the handwriting?" asked Marguerite. "Maybe it's that madwoman who was here earlier? The one who thinks that I'm Morrighan?"

The Frosts were passing, and Charles Tremayne called them over. But they didn't know the writing, nor did any of the servants.

Tremayne went to lock the letter and its envelope in his office safe, and the others talked uneasily about the matter.

"Ma'am," said the senior maid, "this is rather creepy. Is there any danger, do you reckon? Oh, I just heard that Mr. Green is back. He sent word to his lordship that he'll be up to the house in a moment."

Green arrived, but could shed no light on the sabotaged saddle. "I really didn't see who saddled which horse, Sir," he claimed. "I just gave word to saddle eight mounts, and I saddled two. The other lads did the rest, but no one remembers saddling Jock. He's back, by the way. Found his way home."

"Well, that's something, at least," grumbled Lindemere. "I should hate to have lost a good horse over this. It's already a sticky mess. Thank you, Green. That will be all. See that all the horses are put away, if everyone is back."

The Roxtons decided to go upstairs. Marguerite wanted to examine her bruises more carefully and to have a bath, which she felt would make her feel better. She was a little stiff from her hard fall from Jock into her husband's arms and onto his horse.

The others organized various games, or found something to read.

Someone suggested reading the will early, but the lawyers said that it would be best to wait until the specified time, as one heir had not appeared yet.

Marguerite undressed and looked herself over carefully in the mirror. Roxton sat on the bed, regarding her with admiration and a little concern. He called her over and examined the larger bruise on her thigh more carefully.

"You'll live," he decided. "Just a little the worse for wear, but no sign of a fracture underneath. Look: while you splash around in the tub, I think I'll go next door and talk to George. He and Finn wanted to talk to me about some plan they have for a stock market investment, anyway. I'll be back soon, I'm sure. Want me to wash your back?"

Please," she said. "Don't let George get you involved in too deep a discussion. Give me maybe 20 minutes, and then I want my bath attendant at hand."

Roxton shook his head in amusement, kissed his wife, and went to knock on the Challengers' door

Some ten minutes had passed, then Marguerite thought she heard the door to the room open. Thinking that it was John, she paid no particular attention.

But in a few moments, she heard sounds that seemed strange, not like her man moving around. "John?" she called.

Getting no response, she got out of the tub, drying off with a lavender towel, which she tucked around her. She stepped to the door and opened it.

"John, are you here?" she called. But he wasn't. "Hmpf," she muttered. "I could swear that I heard something."

She walked over to the closet and selected a dress for that evening, a pale green one with a plunging neckline and a skirt that ended just below the knee. She selected thong panties, white, with lace trim that she had sewn, herself, and went back to the closet for shoes. She would forego a bra that night, the dress being sleeveless, with a halter neck that would allow her breasts to move subtly beneath the material, drawing every male eye in the mansion. Having two children had increased her bust size, and she enjoyed exploiting her assets at many formal events. Other men looked as well as Roxton, and she enjoyed making him a little jealous. She felt so desirable when he seemed defensive of his "territory".

She heard something slither out from under the bed and then a loud hissing that was almost like a small dog growling. On turning she saw a cobra, erect, hood fully spread, looking at her with a baleful stare. It stood a couple of feet off the floor, and regarded her much as she imagined that it might look at a doomed rat. But with more anger...

The underside was black, with the gold bands that she remembered Challenger and her white hunters in Kenya telling her was the way to easily identify an Egyptian cobra. Challenger had called it Naja Something. Ah. _Naja haje_. Odd that this scientific name should occur to her now, imperiled as she was by one of the deadly snakes. It was huge, some six or seven feet long, poised to strike.

Marguerite knew that this was a lethal reptile. Queen Cleopatra had committed suicide by allowing one to bite her, and many other persons had succumbed to its toxic fangs. Why one should be in her bedroom, in one of the finest mansions in southern England, she could not say. It was certainly not a snake indigenous to Britain!

Then, she remembered that awful note: Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live...and the saddle that had been prepared to make her fall from a tall horse at a gallop.

Marguerite had a gun, a Smith & Wesson .38 revolver like Finn's, but with a rounded butt and a four-inch barrel, an inch less than on Finn's gun. But it was in her suitcase, sitting locked across the room. John's guns were also in his suitcase, although she decided then and there that both would be armed from now on. She also had a standard Colt .32 automatic like the fancy one left in her desk at home. It would be easy to conceal if she dressed right.

The cobra was beside the bed, maybe ten feet from her in the spacious room. Now, it slithered forward a foot, increasing the hissing noise. Its tongue flickered in and out, like some awful thing in a horror film. It rose a little higher, and she wondered if this species could spit venom, like some African cobras. It might be aiming for her eyes, right now!

She stepped quickly back into the bathroom, slamming the door. She should be safe now, for the moment. But she was trapped! And what would happen when her husband came in a few minutes, to wash her back? What would happen to him?!

She felt herself wail, a pitiful cry that she cut short. She had survived many a crisis in her life, and she meant to survive this one. But, how?

And who had put the snake there? Who wanted her dead, and why? Was the motive simply getting more money from the inheritance with her gone, or was this because she was being condemned as a witch?

If I ever figure out who rigged that saddle to fail and put this damned cobra in here, she silently swore, I am going to do something very witchy to them. That's if I live, of course. That seems an important consideration…

John Roxton excused himself from his meeting with the Challengers, pleading the need to wash his wife's back. ""You know Marguerite," he explained. "She has a love of luxury."

Finn shrugged. "Johnny, you could just get one of the servants to do that. This stock deal sounds really good. We need to finish discussing it."

But her wink told him that she was teasing. Finnykins knew full well that Lord Roxton had no intention of allowing some servant, especially a male one, to see his love in the bath. And his washing Marguerite's back was one of their favorite ways of bonding.

Roxton stepped to the next room, rapped on the door and said, "Ready or not, here I come, Marguerite."

She heard him through both doors, although some of the words were muffled. Oh, no! Her lover and mate was about to walk right into the fangs of that damned cobra!

She snapped the door open, holding her towel in front of her, where she might be able to parry its attack.

"John, get out," she cried. "Snake! Cobra! Can you see it? I'm serious! Someone put one in our room!"

He saw motion in the open closet, and the angry cobra came gliding out, head reared back to strike, some two feet off the floor.

Roxton quickly took in the situation, and roared, "Shut the bathroom door, Marguerite! I'll think of something and be right back!

The door to the Challengers' room was still open, and they heard Marguerite's scream and Roxton's response. They looked sharply at one another and went for their guns. Challenger was wearing his .45 automatic in a shoulder holster, and Finn had her Colt .32 in a holster that fit into her pants and snapped to her belt. It was easy to hide the compact .32 under her riding coat, so she had chosen the Colt over her beloved Smith & Wesson .38 Special.

Roxton saw them as they drew their weapons, their faces asking what was happening. He told them in a staccato burst of words, assuring them that he was not playing a prank.

"I tell you, I saw the damned snake. I hope there's only one. I think it's an Egyptian cobra, although how it got in our room in England, I'm sure I can't say!"

Finn thought fast. "If we shoot at it, it'll be hard to hit with a pistol while it's moving. Johnny, we might shoot it and the bullet could go clear through and hit someone in the next room or break a window."

"My concern exactly," agreed her husband. "Finn, holster that gun and run get Lord Lindemere. Tell him to bring a shotgun loaded with birdshot. Maybe it won't penetrate the wall."

Finn ran to do his bidding, terrified that her friend might be bitten before they found the right way to dispose of the snake

Both Lindemeres heard her out, and Charles ran for a shotgun while sending a servant for a butterfly net that was in his old room from childhood days. He hoped that the net was still in good enough condition to hold the snake until they could dispatch it without shooting. Like George and Finn Challenger, he was concerned about firing a shot within his home. That was a last resort.

Remembering something, he returned to the gun room/den to retrieve a machete that he took on his trips to jungles in several tropical lands.

Finn grinned as she saw it. She had killed a few snakes with similar machetes and thought that this might indeed be the answer, if they could pin the cobra down for a moment. Its head could then be severed with a whack or two of the long bush knife.

"I hope that thing is sharp," she said, leading the Lindemeres back upstairs.

Charles tested the blade with a thumb and replied, "Not razor-edged, but it'll do. Look, are you sure that this isn't a bloody joke? In view of what's happened, I can't see that it's very funny."

"It isn't funny at all," she promised him. "If Johnny and Marguerite say that a cobra is in their room, there's one in there."

They paused at the room, where an anxious Roxton watched with relief as he saw the servant approaching with the net. Lindemere loaded the 12 gauge James Purdey gun and passed it to his wife. "Felicity, don't shoot unless you have to," he cautioned," but if that snake looks as if it's evading the net, go ahead and fire. I only hope that ricocheting pellets don't hurt anyone."

Roxton offered to try to net the cobra, but his host declined. "Let me do that," he instructed. "You take the panga, as our African friends call a machete. If I get the bugger, I'll try to keep it in the net long enough for you to behead it."

Roxton accepted the long bush knife, which he saw was made by Martindale, a sound British manufacturer. The 18-inch blade should be long enough to let him strike the snake without being bitten.

"As soon as everyone is ready," offered the male Challenger, "I'll pull the door open."

"Ready, set, GO!" said Lindemere, and the tall scientist flung open the door.

But the snake was nowhere to be seen" Don't go in there without being very careful, indeed," cautioned Roxton. "I swear, I personally saw that snake. George, it's an Egyptian cobra, about six to seven feet long. It can't hide too well if we look for it. Marguerite!" he raised his voice. "If you're even half decent, get out of there and grab some clothes and get into George and Finn's room while we find the snake."

"All right," she called. "But I'm in a towel. Don't anyone look! Is that even a quarter decent? Certainly not half..." She laughed at the ridiculousness of her situation.

She bolted out of the bathroom door, kissed Roxton in her passage, and went next door, hugging a relieved Finn.

The others heard Finn offer Marguerite clothing, for the women often wore each others' items when they wanted, both being about the same size.

Susan Wilson came, and offered to pass Marguerite things from the Roxton room, if the men would hand them out.

"Later, please," said Lindemere. "We're rather busy just now. If that cobra is here, I don't want to be distracted. I've met a few of those rascals in Africa, and they're fast and aggressive, if they're mad. What I don't understand is how one got into my home. They range throughout most of sub-Saharan Africa, but that's a jolly good distance from here!"

"There it is!" cried Felicity, pointing to the snake as it emerged from under a dresser. It saw them at once, and coiled in a defensive posture, rising up and spreading its ominous hood.

"Thomas!" called Felicity. "Will you please get some big torches? (Flashlights, in US English.) We shall have to search the room after we kill this snake. Others may be lurking under the dressers or the bed, maybe in the closet."

"Yes, Lady Lindemere," said Thomas, running for the lights and his .38 Webley. He looked to see where Lois Winters was. Lois was an upstairs maid, and Thomas was rather concerned for her safety. Truth be told, Thomas was fast falling for the slender, graceful brunette, who had been hired about a month before.

"Right, here he comes", barked Roxton. And Lindemere shoved his net forward, catching the powerful reptile as it surged toward them.

Lady Lindemere cried out, as a woman might on seeing her mate in danger. But she brought up the 12 gauge Purdey coolly, ready to shoot if need be.

Lindemere got the cobra in the net and twisted the handle, trapping most of its length within the mesh. But the mesh was old and started to tear as the enraged serpent thrashed within its confines. There was little time left for action.

Roxton stepped forward, timed his stroke carefully, and beheaded the snake. He had to strike twice, for the panga was only fairly sharp.

Lindemere motioned his wife aside and deposited the writhing remains of the venomous intruder in a trash can in the bedroom.

The coils continued to contort, making thumping noises within the metal wastebasket. Roxton skewered the severed head on the point of the machete and dropped it in with the rest of the snake.

"That was well done of us, Roxton," said his host. "Are you up for looking for others, although how there'd be more than one baffles me. There shouldn't be even this one."

Thomas brought the flashlights and stood by Lady Lindemere, their guns ready in case of need. The net was half ruined, but Lindemere hoped that it might hold another cobra for at least a brief time, during which the machete could do its lethal work.

But the careful search revealed no more snakes, and everyone breathed easier.

Thomas was told to take the snake's remains to a storage room and to lock the door. Then, he would clean up the considerable blood that had sprayed the room after Roxton had slashed off the evil head.

Felicity unloaded the shotgun, handing it to her husband. She turned to Marguerite, who had come to the door of the Challengers' room, where she leaned against Roxton. He held her close, telling her that she needn't put snakes in their room to get attention. "Just the prospect of washing your back was excitement enough for me," he teased.

Marguerite laughed. Felicity joined her, thinking that Lord Roxton was a witty man, as well as a handsome, strong one. Her previously unknown half sister-in-law had chosen a husband well.

Then, a thought struck her. Marguerite was in a dark green robe borrowed from Finn. "Marguerite," asked Felicity," would it be awfully impertinent of me to ask if I may see this infamous birthmark while you're already sort of undressed? What is it like, really? The drawing in the papers looked very detailed for a birthmark, like it's truly some symbol. May I see?"

Marguerite blushed, but nodded. "Is Charles going to want to look, too? If John has no objection? I'd rather get this circus over with, and Charles will wonder from now on what evil mark I bear in my flesh, if he doesn't see for himself. I'm not awfully keen on showing the Frosts, though. Are they even here?"

"No," said Charles Tremayne. "But I can hardly ask Roxton to allow me to see his wife's body unclothed..."

But Marguerite had already lowered the robe, wearing beneath it only a pair of white thong panties borrowed from Finn. She kept her back turned as the Tremaynes studied her birthmark. Charles gave Roxton an apologetic look as he did so, but he was fascinated by the small coloration.

Felicity touched the pale pink mark lightly. "This seems completely natural," she concluded. "It's not like it was a brand or tattoo. But it is clearly two opposing symbols that are uncanny in appearance. Marguerite, has this always looked like this? Maybe you are a witch," she laughed.

"Very bloody funny," muttered Lady Roxton. "Yes, it's always been like this. Even the Arab bastard who enslaved me thought it was odd, and he had no idea what it is. It does resemble some strange Druidic symbol. But as far as I know, it's simply a weird coincidence. It just frightens some superstitious people. I say, do you think some local witch or gypsy may have put that snake in my room?"

"We've seen no gypsies lately," offered her brother. "There are a few witches, like that madwoman whom you met. But I can't say whether they keep dangerous foreign snakes. I mean to find out, as soon as possible."

"Lady Roxton, shall I fetch some clothes from your room, or are you about to go back in there?" Susan was embarrassed at Marguerite's near nudity.

Marguerite glanced at her husband. "John here was about to wash my back. Finny, George, do you mind if we use your tub? I'm not going back in our room for awhile. I'd just know that that cobra's mate was lurking in there somewhere. John, will you get our towels and soap and something for me to wear? I laid out my clothes before that serpent made its presence known. Thank you, Susan. Lord Roxton will find my things. Is everyone through gawking at my birthmark?

Look here," said Lord Lindemere. "I had the servants clean up the room where Randt was staying. It might be a bit macabre moving in where a dead man was quartered, but it might be better than staying where you are, with the fright that the cobra gave you. And that blood needs cleaning up. I'm sorry that we're short of rooms, with all the guests."

"Oh, wonderful," Marguerite complained. "Either I stay where the snake went after me, or I go where a ghost may strangle me."

Roxton rolled his eyes. "Marguerite, get in the bathroom, if it's all right with the Challengers. You've entertained us enough out here. I'll come wash your back, and then we'll move our things into Randt's room. If his ghost comes in tonight, I'll knock it on its back like I did him when he was alive."

And so, the Roxtons changed rooms. But, would that really make them secure, if the threat to them came from within the house? Someone certainly knew far too much about them, and would probably try to murder Marguerite again. Roxton tried to reassure her, but he was very concerned about her safety. And, his own!

Challenger called Susan into his room and told her what had happened with the horse and the snake." Someone seems determined to kill Marguerite," he concluded. "I think we had all best take defensive measures. Be alert and don't wander off on your own, until we know what's involved. There have already been two suspicious deaths here this week. I don't want there to be a third."

"I'll be careful, Sir, "Susan assured him."Should I have a gun? I mean, if you have a spare?"

Susan didn't own a handgun, but Finn showed her how to operate her own Colt .25 automatic. Finn normally carried it in her purse, in a little leather pouch that kept it from being scratched by the other articles in the bag.

Susan was drilled in loading the magazine, operating the slide, and taking aim at human targets at the close ranges for which the little gun was intended. "Shoot for their eyes, if you have time," advised Finn. "The .25 doesn't have a lot of stopping power, but the gun is small enough that you can carry it almost anywhere. This is what you'd better do. This place is getting really creepy."

"Yes, Mrs. Challenger," said Susan. "But if I have your gun, how will you protect yourself?"

Finn showed her the small lock blade knife that she had been keeping clipped between the cups of her bra, and her Colt .32 automatic, a larger gun made to much the same design as her little .25. The .32 was a mate to Marguerite's fancy .32, with Colt's best grade of engraving and ivory grips. Finn said that she'd carry it in her larger purse or in a coat pocket, if she went out. "And I have my trusty S&W .38 here in our room. Also, I know some judo and aikido and other techniques so that I can defend myself with my hands and feet, if I have to. But I'll try to shoot or cut someone before I'll let them get close enough that it becomes a hand-to-hand fight. I could get hurt in a fight. I won't risk it, if I have a choice."

Susan looked admiringly at her, and Finn felt embarrassed and responsible. She hoped that her secretary would be safe. She half thought of suggesting that Susan move in with her and George, but that would raise too many eyebrows here in Britain, especially in 1928. And she and her husband would feel inhibited. Not only would sex be affected; they often shared their innermost thoughts in bed, enjoying the quietness and comfort of that time of the night. She did ask if Susan felt safe in her room, which was halfway down the hall.

"Yes, ma'am, it's a wonderful room. And it has a huge bathtub that I love lying in. Everything here is so nice! If only people weren't being killed! Well, we just have two or three more nights, right?"

"Yes," said Challenger. "The will is being read tomorrow, after dinner. Then, I suppose everyone will stay the night and begin leaving the next day. As Marguerite has just met her siblings, she may wish to stay longer, but I think another day or so will be it. Lord Roxton has business affairs to attend to, and they'll both want to see their children again soon. Their nannies are trustworthy, as are ours. But one wants to see one's children often. If you have any someday, I daresay that you'll be amazed at how much the little nippers mean to their parents. Or, should. Far too many people just leave them with the nannies, and I think being close to their parents means much to a child. It adds greatly to their development, I should think."

They talked a bit longer, then the Roxtons came out of the bath and began moving their things into their new room. Marguerite took a flashlight and theatrically searched under the bed and in the closets.

"Marguerite, what on earth are you looking for?" demanded her husband.

"Ghosts and snakes and witches," she replied. "I just want to be sure that we have the place to ourselves!"

CHAPTER FIVE

By late afternoon, it was obvious that bad weather was coming in. Like ants at the picnic, it was unwelcome, but seemingly inevitable. October had been pleasant, but the kaleidoscope of leaves in gorgeous hues would soon be replaced by snow.

Finn stood at a bay window, looking out at the approaching storm.

Marguerite and Susan joined her. "Penny for your thoughts," Marguerite offered. Finn, ever ready with droll wit, stuck out her hand, and Marguerite said, "I was speaking rhetorically. What's the matter, Finn? Aren't you books selling? You need to sell your thoughts?"

"I would, if I could," answered the slender blonde. "George wants a yacht, but we can't afford it yet. Oh, well: life is tough all over. At least, we eat better than most people on this planet. Hey, look! Someone's coming! What kind of car is that?"

A handsome burgundy touring car swept up the long driveway and paused in front of Lindemere Manor. A tall man in a bowler hat and tan greatcoat got out and started for the door. He saw the three women looking out, took off the hat, and bowed to them in ironic cavalier fashion.

They laughed and waved back. Marguerite looked for someone to send for the butler, but Lady Lindemere had seen, and was already on the way to the door.

She admitted the man, having Thomas bring in his luggage.

Others joined them, having heard the door open.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced their hostess, "let me introduce Mr. Michael Bland, our missing heir. We're all assembled now, so there's no problem with reading the will tomorrow."

"Why can't we have it read tonight?' grumbled someone.

"Because the lawyers have gone into the village for something, and may not be back until tomorrow," said Lord Lindemere. He had heard the commotion and come in from the library.

"Beauty!" complained Mick Waring, the lone Australian in their number. "If it isn't one flaming thing, it's another. Gimme a beer, love," he said to a passing maid. "I'll take it up to my room and admire the arctic wasteland that's forming out there."

He waited until the girl had brought the beer, and teased her. "You're not a bad lookin' sheila, Cutie. Care to come up and help me watch for snow?"

Some looked shocked, which amused Waring. Others laughed softly as the girl blushed.

"I have to be off to the kitchen and help cook, if you're to have dinner on time, tonight, Sir," she managed. "But perhaps another time." She smiled at him, for Waring was a good looking man in a rugged, outdoorsy way. And as an heir, he would presumably soon be rich, if he wasn't already. That fact was hardly lost on her.

"Well, I need my tucker," he admitted. "Go cook. I'll hold you to that 'another time', though."

He looked out. "Crikey! Here's someone else. I thought that we were all here?"

Another car pulled up and they saw that it was the police this time. The inspector of that morning got out with two constables. They hurried to the door, obviously feeling the chill blast of the rising wind.

Lindemere admitted them and asked their business, after offering tea. "Or, something stronger, in view of the cold," he suggested. "Brandy, gentlemen?"

"Sorry, Your Lordship," answered the detective inspector. "I have to ask if any of your guests are missing, or have been gone today."

"I'll take a count," said Lindemere. "But, why? No one has gone anywhere since this morning when some rode. Is anything wrong?"

"I'm afraid so, Sir," said the officer. "You recall that woman who was in here yesterday, the one who is reputed to be a witch, and worried about your half-sister being a bad influence? The widow Wiley? Well, she has just been found dead. Hanged in her own kitchen, with a note pinned to her dress. It said, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' Now, I ask you, Sir: does that sound familiar?"

An astonished Tremayne took a census of his family, staff, and guests. All were present. None admitted to knowing anything about Mrs. Wiley or the manner of her death. Most expressed shock, and many, sadness. Only one or two said anything critical, that being about her probable sanity.

The inspector sent his men off to the kitchen for roast beef sandwiches and a snifter of good brandy. They also understood that they were to try to engage the staff in gossip that might yield clues.

Then, he asked to see the damaged saddle and the dead cobra. Satisfied that Tremayne had told the truth about those on the telephone, he agreed that the cinch seemed to have been partially cut. He used a magnifying glass to determine that. And he agreed that frightening the horse would probably snap the remaining strength in the weakened cinch.

"Your Lordship, I must tell you, I believe that someone attempted to deliberately murder Lady Roxton. The snake makes it even more evident. If only I had some idea where they'd get this African snake...I'll check the Gypsy camps if we find any, but the few here this year are long gone. They moved along well before it looked like cold weather was close. Not that they ever talk to police, anyway. Have good cause not to, usually. They're a primary source of theft, fraud, and other crime wherever they appear."

He asked that Lady Lindemere, the Roxtons, and the Challengers join them in a private room. "Oh," he added. "That attractive blonde girl, Susan Something, too, if you please. She is a servant of Lady Challenger?"

"Her private secretary," Lindemere said. "But Mrs. Challenger isn't a Lady in the titular sense. Her husband is famous, but not among the peerage." (This took place well before George and Finn Challenger were created First Baron and Baroness Challenger in 1936 by H.M. King Edward VIII, during that monarch's brief reign. See, "Thunderbolt Over Burma" and, "Of Families, Shopping, and Shikar" to encounter them as Baron and Baroness Challenger.)

"Sorry," said the detective. "I suppose that I'm getting used to seeing nobility at your place. Look: I suspect that Prof. Challenger is wearing a shoulder holster under his coat, as is Lord Roxton. I'm going to carefully avoid noticing that, officially. But remind the gentlemen that if they leave your property, where they may be armed as your guests, carrying concealed firearms is an offense. Do you trust them armed?"

"I do, although I hadn't thought about this before," the lord confessed. "I'll ask them to be discreet. I feel sure that both are honorable men. The Earl of Avebury is now my brother-in-law, and Challenger and his lovely, witty wife, are almost family to the Roxtons. They are surely just alarmed by the attempts on Marguerite's life. Look, can I have some sandwiches sent in? You must be starved, after being in court for most of the afternoon."

The detective, Inspector Joseph Chalmers by name, agreed, with thanks. He eschewed the brandy that his men were getting, asking for tea, instead.

When the small group was assembled in a secluded room, he briefed them on how Mrs. Wiley had been found. A neighbor woman had gone looking for her when she noticed that her back door was standing open. Inside the kitchen, the decedent was seen dangling from the ceiling, a rope around her neck. Her hands were crossed and bound to her waist. The awful note was fastened to her dress with a safety pin, probably from her own sewing kit, which was strewn over the living room floor.

"I am sorry to have to tell you, especially with ladies present, that the noose was not the sort used to break the neck. A skilled hangman knows how to do that on the first drop from a modern gallows. No, this noose was intended to slowly strangle the victim, as she must have kicked and struggled until the last. She was gagged, to prevent neighbors hearing her tormented screams. It was a vile deed, and I mean to find whoever did it."

"Wait," said Finn. "Why kill her that way? Couldn't they have done it more mercifully, if they felt they had to do it at all?" She was brave, but this disgusted her. It showed on her face, and Felicity Tremayne reached out to touch her shoulder.

"I think she was hanged out of cruelty," said Chalmers, "and to make a statement. Hanging was one of the traditional ways to slay a witch. So, it suited their ends. Burning would draw too many people, too soon."

"When did this happen?" asked Roxton.

The inspector considered carefully before answering. "About three o'clock this afternoon, the coroner thinks. Give or take an hour or so. Try to think if anyone from here was missing around then, will you? Call me if you think of anyone whose actions can't be accounted for. But I really think this was done by local people, who knew her reputation as a witch. Your guests probably never saw her before Mrs. Frost had her brought in to identify Lady Roxton. They wouldn't know where she lived."

"Why have you excluded my sister and her husband from this meeting?" asked Tremayne.

Chalmers looked him straight in the eye and said, "Lord Lindemere, she is your sister, and I will not say anything at this time. But I have to acknowledge that she knew how to find the lady before she was asked to come here. And both of the Frosts, excuse me, Sir...Both of them just make me uneasy in their presence. I would appreciate it if you say nothing of this to either of them. Just tell them that I had some questions for Lady Roxton, about who might wish her dead. Which raises that question..." He turned to Marguerite with an expectant look on his face.

Marguerite named some persons who would prefer her dead, and the policeman nodded, making notes as they talked.

"But, Lady Roxton, I hardly think these present attempts on your life are likely to come from this Chinaman or the Sultan of Amarrah. They don't seem the style of such men. They tend to be more direct, surely? I think the motive is either connected to the inheritance or to your reputation as a witch. Who here, in this home, might wish you harm?" The detective looked keenly at her. Most people had at least a subconscious knowledge of who might want to kill them. Maybe he could prompt Marguerite Roxton to search her soul for answers that might save her life.

She sat back, her eyes closed. "I'm thinking, Inspector. I have a good intuition, whether it is witchcraft or not. Sometimes, I sense things. This time, I'm drawing a blank, although my half-sister and her husband have been quite rude. I suppose they feel that my illegitimate birth tainted the family honor. I am so very grateful that my brother and his wife have been totally gracious, even eager to welcome me into the family. More? The only chap who really seemed physically hostile fell down the stairs drunk and conveniently broke his neck. I didn't even have to cast a spell or boil any cats, or whatever witches do to get rid of him." She smiled wryly, and the detective found himself liking her. She seemed a genuine, even compassionate, person. And very intelligent and worldly. He felt sympathy for her, an emotion that he often didn't extend to those above his social class. And, frankly, many of those murdered were lowlife individuals whom the police didn't really miss. Marguerite Roxton was an exception. He found himself wanting very much to keep her alive, if he could. Even her husband and friends seemed very likeable people. Lindemere was generous with his hospitality, something not too often encountered among wealthy nobles dealing with commoners. Who hated her enough to want to kill her, and why?

An even more urgent question was: how long did he have to find the killer before he struck successfully?

Someone rapped sharply on the door. "Charles!" called Clarissa Frost. "Come and hear the evening news on the radio! The Sultan of Amarrah was killed today when RAF planes shot up the truck he was riding in on some desert road. Most of his inner circle were also killed, a few taken prisoner later. Some chieftain from a rival tribe has promised cooperation with Britain, and is expected to be installed as the new Sultan in a day or so. The war is effectively over."

The door was flung open and those in the room rushed out to hear the remainder of the BBC broadcast.

"Well," said Chalmers to Lord Roxton and his mate, "I expect that this news eliminates one suspect. Unless he has agents here, already sworn to kill Lady Roxton to fulfill a blood oath, or some such. With these foreigners, one never knows, does one?"

"No," agreed Marguerite. "We can't know for certain. But I plan to have a drink to his demise, anyway. I do love hearing good news." Chalmers thought she looked quite chipper.

"Right on!" exclaimed Finn. "Charles, have you got any champagne? I'll pour Marguerite a glass of it, and lead a toast. Susan, be sure to join us. You and Marguerite suffered enough because of that rag - headed creep that having a glass of really good 'bubbly' is the least that we can do." She realized that she sounded pretty free with her host's hospitality.

"No worries, Charles. I'll pay for it to be replaced. I guess I got a little carried away with getting into your wine cellar." She looked embarrassed.

"Finn, please don't feel bad," Lindemere said. "You simply expressed the thought just before it left my own mouth. I'll send for several bottles so that everyone can join us. You and your men, too, Inspector, if you like. You and Giles will join us, won't you, Clarissa?" And he looked sternly at his sister.

Clarissa fidgeted and frowned before finally nodding a yes. But her eyes were downcast, not looking at the jubilant Marguerite. And her mouth was tight, expressing displeasure.

Giles Frost also seemed unhappy, although less so than his wife. And he gave Marguerite a speculative look that left her wondering what was in his mind, other than undressing her with his eyes. Giles was one of several men who had been doing that since her arrival. But they also did that to Finn and Susan, and to the other attractive women, including the maids. In fact, Lois and another serving girl probably caught more such glances than did most of the gentlewomen. Maybe they seemed more available to the visiting men, who had the advantage of social rank over their class of women.

The Australian fellow, Mick Waring, was nicer about it than the others, and he actually did appeal to the girl whom he had teased. Ironically, her name really was Sheila (Aussie slang for a girl) , which amused him all the more. Marguerite noticed that Sheila kept glancing at him, and several times, their eyes met. They smiled at one another, too.

Roxton caught Sheila and Waring looking at one another that way, and when Waring glanced Roxton's way, the Earl gave him a "thumbs up" signal and a knowing grin. There was a time when he had also gotten to know certain servant girls quite well...

Ice buckets and champagne were brought, and all gathered to talk and to listen to the radio as further details emerged about the war in Amarrah. Roxton made a point of standing very close to his wife, and his hand caressed her shoulder as she shivered, thinking about the now departed Sultan of Amarrah.

When the bottles of Moet & Chandon were chilled, glasses were brought, and the bottles carefully opened, lest foam spray the guests.

The Roxtons, the Challengers, and the Tremaynes all clinked glasses in a toast to the demise of the vicious Arab ruler, and Marguerite's heart felt warmed as she noted the sincerity in the smiles that she received from Charles and from Felicity. Giles and Clarissa were more subdued in their expressions of pleasure that Marguerite would no longer have to fear the Sultan, but they were gracious enough to wish her well.

Others came by and wished the Roxtons well, saying what a terrible experience it must have been for Marguerite to have been kidnapped while in Kenya, and having lived in dread since. But some, including women, looked disdainfully or speculatively at her, knowing that she had been held by slavers and was also of illegitimate birth..

Finn nudged her husband and gestured toward Sheila as she served Mick Waring another glass of champagne and some wafers. Challenger smiled back at her and said, "Nothing unusual there, Nicole. Basic elemental human chemistry in action. I sense a possible fusion between those two elements later tonight."

"Does that mean Waring is going to get laid, Genius?" She tried not to leer. "Well, if he can, maybe you can. We never did finish what we started this morning." She leaned up on her toes and kissed him.

Challenger was just telling her that she would indeed find herself doing something more than sleeping later that night, when a servant entered and announced that dinner was served.

Finn grinned at George. "Eat hearty, big guy. You'll need your strength later. I am so going to tire you out..."

Then, she saw her husband looking curiously at someone across the room. She followed his eyes and saw Green, the stable manager, in earnest conversation with the Frosts. He didn't know why, but something about their body language made him uneasy. And the trio kept glancing at Marguerite Roxton..

Lord Lindemere also saw Green and came over to ask if he needed something. Normally, the stable manager didn't enter the house beyond the kitchen unless he was summoned. Green made a show of telling Lindemere that he had come to tell him that the horses were being provided for in view of the cold weather.

"The stables will be warmed nicely, Sir," he said, and took his leave.

Lindemere looked after him and said to his wife, "Felicity, remind me after everything settles down to ask Green more about who saddled that horse that Marguerite rode. And it's a bit odd that he seems so close to my charming sister and her husband."

Felicity nodded. "Have you noticed that the Frosts have also been rather thick with John and Theresa Hammond? And Green was gone about the time that poor widow was hanged for presumed witchcraft!"

He shrugged. "Well, they've known each other for years. Many of those mentioned in Father's will are acquaintances, you know. And our stablemaster hanging Mrs. Wiley just because he wasn't here is a bit of a stretch, I daresay."

They were distracted by the arrival of the lawyers, who announced that the road to town was becoming icy and choked in places by heavy snowfall.

"We only just got through in a few spots," declared Cavendish.

"You did arrive." said Lindemere. "You'd have left a lot of disappointed people here if you hadn't. Let the maid take your coats and come in to dinner. It's just being served. Never thought I'd be so eager to see a couple of lawyers." But he smiled to show that he was teasing.

At dinner, conversation ranged from the war with Amarrah to the weather to the will. As to the latter, the barristers said that there was no longer any obstacle to reading it, all who were mentioned in it having now arrived.

"We do have to draw up some papers affecting some bequests, as those will have to be signed by the recipients, and we need to get some other paperwork ready. Shall we say that after breakfast tomorrow is a good time to gather in your den and read it?" John Ransom looked expectantly at Lord Lindemere.

He nodded, and told the lawyers what they had missed that day.

"A cobra, you say! In Lord and Lady Roxton's bedroom! And a sabotaged saddle! My word, Charles, you do run an exciting place!" Ransom and Cavendish exchanged glances.

A fish course was served with Le Montrachet, Joseph Drouhin being the _negociant_/shipper from Burgundy. The meat, roast beef, was accompanied by mature bottles of Chateau Latour. "Thought we'd get out the best wine in view of the circumstances," said Felicity Tremayne. "Charles and I want you all to remember the occasion pleasantly, in spite of two deaths and the other strange happenings. The late Lord Lindemere was known for his generous hospitality, and Charles and I want to continue in that tradition."

Everyone told her how much they were enjoying the delicious meal, and talk turned to witchcraft and who had killed Mrs. Wiley.

John Hammond seemed rather knowledgeable about the matter and his wife also seemed well informed about the history of witchcraft. They spoke entertainingly of it, but only after Donald Smythe-White, a widower who had known them for some years, mentioned their interest. They seemed a bit put out to have this revealed, until they saw that the subject held everyone spellbound. Then, vanity triumphed over pique, and they spoke freely.

"How did you come to know Mrs. Wiley? " Challenger asked of Mrs. Frost. "Pity about what happened to her. Do you suppose it's connected to her visit here?"

Clarissa Frost stammered a bit, and then said that she had known for years about the woman being a witch. "But she was a good witch, if there is such a thing, I suppose. Some of the villagers who are superstitious came to her for herbal medicines and spells to ward off evil, that sort of thing. I can't see why her coming here had anything to do with her murder, for Heaven's sakes!"

She soon changed the subject, but not before Finn Challenger and her husband looked at one another thoughtfully. There was definitely more here than met the eye.

When the Challengers caught the Roxtons' eye, they also seemed contemplative, and studied the Hammonds and the Frosts carefully. Marguerite felt a cold chill trickle down her spine. She sensed that something was wrong here. The attempts on her life might not be over, and she had an eerie dread that someone at this very table wished her dead! The worst part was that when she'd had similar forebodings in the past, they had often proven to be correct. She found herself regretting that the police had gone, a rare sentiment for her, given the role of police throughout most of her life!

After dinner and dessert, the group assembled in the den for brandy and cigars for the men, and the women took sherry or more wine from dinner. There was no division of the guests by sex, as was usually the case at such a time. Everyone wanted to talk about the inheritance, the deaths, and the war. Many questioned Marguerite and Susan about what had happened in Kenya, all agreeing that they been exceptionally lucky. Few slave girls escape their captors, and Finn had been incredibly fortunate not to have been in camp when they struck. (See, "On Safari" on this board for that adventure.)

The former Treehouse men and Finn described their rescue of two girls and the deaths of the slavers. One was wounded and held for trial, which is how the story got to the media. Marguerite was furious at the embarrassing details that he gave to the press and in court testimony. After several sensationalist papers printed that she was once a slave girl in Amarrah, she was so humiliated that she hesitated to leave Avebury. Her husband and friends had encouraged her, and she was getting back to normal. But she still had to field awful inquiries from people she met and from reporters.

"It will settle down," Challenger promised after more such questions were asked. "And look: the people here have a lurid interest in what you were subjected to, but most are just fascinated. They aren't avoiding you. Instead, you've become a celebrity. Remember that Lady Baker was a slave, bought in a Turkish market by her British husband. Mind you, he had to pose as an Arab. But they fell in love eventually, married, and were quite the social couple after their return to England. Very famous explorers, too. "(This is true. Search for information on Sir Samuel and Lady Baker. Florence Baker was born in Austria, and taken slave by Turks.)

Each guest told tales of his or her adventures, discussed business, and in general talked and played bridge until most drifted off to bed. Mick Waring got the servant girl who appealed to him off to an empty room and talked to her as they watched ice pellets strafe the bay window. "Winter is here, I expect. We don't get a lot of snow in Australia. Want to join me later and hear about kangaroos and such?"

She did, saying that she would be off in an hour or so. As it turned out, it was a good thing for certain guests that Mick and Sheila decided on a midnight tryst.

Finn thought the best part of the evening, other than a meal that she loved, was selling three more copies of her book.

"Come up to bed, and I'll see if I can give you an even greater thrill," offered her husband. Roxton heard and laughed. He made Marguerite a similar offer, at which she had the grace to blush before making a ribald response. The two couples excused themselves to their hosts and went up to their rooms.

CHAPTER SIX

Susan Wilson lingered to tell Lois Masters, the servant girl whom Thomas the butler fancied, more about her African adventures, and what it was like to work for an author and her famous husband. Neither young woman realized that they would share a horrifying adventure together later that night.

Because it was late and the night was getting stormier, with snow blowing to the extent that a person would have trouble seeing more than a few feet ahead, Lois said that she was afraid to walk back to the house where she roomed, some half a mile from the manor.

"Look," said Susan. "It's too bloody awful for you to go home in this weather. Isn't there some spare room here where you can stay?"

"Afraid not," said Lois. "There usually would be, but all of the guest rooms are taken. So many people are in this will...I'm sure that Thomas would be very happy to host me at his place, but I don't fancy him as much as he seems to want me! Anyway, it wouldn't be respectable, and I'm basically a nice girl. I expect that I'll try to sleep in the gun room and hope that no one finds me in there. But I haven't got any spare clothing, and I so wish that I could freshen up in the morning! Maybe I can use the bathroom upstairs, the one used by people who aren't staying overnight. With my luck, though, some sod will blunder in while I'm trying to wash." She looked stressed and a little forlorn.

"No worries, Lois," offered Susan. "I have two beds in my room. I can only sleep in one. And there's a loo (bathroom) in there, with a shower, too. Plenty of towels and such. Nice soap, also!

"If you don't sleep in it, your uniform will look the same, and I've enough spare knickers that I can give you a pair that I haven't worn. But I warn you, they're awfully brief, compared to most today. Lady Roxton has them made to designs that came from Mrs. Challenger. The styles where she lived must have been very daring! But they're comfortable, and they make you feel a little wicked, if happy. They are of very high quality. She and Mrs. Challenger can afford the best, and they know where to get it. I'm very fortunate to know them. They just have lingerie made for themselves, a friend in Brazil, and a few other ladies they know."

Lois was surprised. "Are you sure that I wouldn't be intruding? We barely know one another!" Even though Susan wasn't of the nobility, she was of solid middle class, above Lois's status as a servant girl. And Britain in that day was even more class conscious than today.

"It's fine," replied Susan, who was a generous, kind person. "I like you, and you're nice. You were good enough to listen to my adventures, and maybe we'll get to be friends, if I come here again. Look, would you like to see Mrs. Challenger's book? I have an autographed copy in my room." Susan was also feeling a little lonely...

"Oh, ma'am! May I? I've heard the talk about it! Are there really such daring photos and drawings in it as they say? Some lady in a primitive jungle adventure costume? And I heard about Lady Roxton's knickers, from when she was showing her birthmark upstairs earlier. They are said to be so small as to be scandalous."

Susan laughed. "Call me Susan. I'm not as rich as these other guests. Certainly not a noble, either. I used to be a bank clerk until Mrs. Challenger played fairy godmother and gave me a whole new existence! And, yes, some of the knickers are pretty small. But I think you'll love them. When those slavers took me and Holly Delaterre, we'd have been grateful if they'd left us even those, though. The only positive aspect of being seen quite naked by so many people is that the way the men looked at us was sort of ego filling, if smutty. Sorry: that may be more than you wanted to hear."

"Oh, no, ma'am! I mean, Susan. I'd love to hear what all happened to you, if you'll say. It must have been terrifying, and I doubt if even half of what you endured was in the papers or on radio. Did Lord Roxton look at you naked? He seems a nice chap. He's given me and a few of the other servant girls a good going over with his eyes, but I don't think he'll make any passes at us. He seems to actually love his wife. That's always so sweet to see, if one has to wish that more men were that devoted."

Susan blushed. "Well, I have to admit that I have been hit on by some married men. But Lord Roxton and Prof. Challenger seem very loyal to their mates. They're great friends, as well as married to one another. I wish that more couples could be that way. Honestly, if a man cared as much about me as George Challenger does about Finn; I'd marry him in an instant. They get on so very well! And Mrs. Challenger is so wonderful a boss and a friend! I can ask her about almost anything. Look, let's hide. There's Thomas, probably looking for you." Susan giggled as the girls took cover behind the drapes in the dark room until they heard Thomas go out to the kitchen.

Then, they scampered upstairs, where they went to Susan's room for two hours of fun, talking together, getting to be friends.

But that fun evening was soon to prove crucial to learning who had committed three murders, and attempted another. The rub was that learning the information might cost Susan Wilson or Lois Masters her life!

After a time, Susan glanced at her wristwatch and saw that it was almost two AM. She realized that she was hungry, and asked Lois if there was a chance that they could find food in the refrigerator.

"There's always stuff for sandwiches, or eggs," said Lois. "Come to think of it, I never ate dinner. We got busy, and I got to talking to you, after. I could do with a bite, too. But I'm a little scared to be alone down there, with two possible murders, and the attempts on Lady Roxton's life!"

"Look," said Susan, "don't dare tell anyone, but I have a gun, a Colt .25 automatic, in my purse. I'll get it and we'll go down together."

"Oh, will you?" exclaimed Lois. "That would be ever so good. I am hungry. Is it loaded, the gun, I mean?"

"Certainly," said Susan. She got the gun and slipped out the magazine, showing Lois the cartridges. "I know how to use it," Susan declared. "We should be safe, even if we do see anyone menacing. But I think it's all quiet down there. Everyone went to bed."

And so, the ladies went down to the kitchen, where they made a meal and ate it. They thought of taking sandwiches to their room, but decided that a hot meal was better, and they wouldn't risk spilling anything on the stairs. All they had to do was to heat up some leftovers, which were delicious.

After, they cleaned up the dishes and went back toward their room, giggling at their adventure, feeling that they had been mildly sinful in sneaking down and cooking after everyone was in bed.

But as they neared the stairs, they saw a light on in the office where the lawyers had been working. The will was in that room, locked in a safe. Why would anyone be in there at this hour?

The girls looked at each other and by unspoken mutual assent, they crept next to the partially closed door to hear what was being said. There were at least two voices from within the room, perhaps three.

Now that they were beside the door, they recognized the Frosts' voices and that of another man.

"Well, if she's getting that much, I say we should pull out the stops and do whatever is needed to kill the bitch before the will is read." Giles Frost.

"The very idea that this illegitimate half-sister should get a dime is revolting." Clarissa Frost..."To give her a hundred thousand pounds is absurd! That money should be ours! The whore is already rich from marrying Roxton. He has one of the largest fortunes in Britain!"

A cousin named Jack Havilland was next: "If we're going to do this, we need to decide how, and soon. We have only a few hours before people will begin rising. It has to be done by some means that won't shout, 'Murder!' Any ideas?"

"Smother the Roxtons with pillows. What would work better? We can club them lightly on the head if they try to wake. But he is a powerful man. Can we hold him down long enough to smother both?" Clarissa's stress showed in her voice.

"Yes," said Havilland. "During the war, I learned to fill a sock with wet sand to club enemy sentries. We can put something harder in a sock, and have an even better improvised blackjack. But we don't want to leave suspicious bruises. "

"I know!" exclaimed Clarissa. "We can put a heavy bar of soap in the sock and have a lethal weapon, if they start to wake. With luck, they'll just smother without ever waking."

"Still," muttered Giles. "If they resist and Roxton gets fully awake...I'll bring my Webley .32 automatic. But if at all possible, we cannot afford to shoot them. The police can now sometimes trace a bullet to the gun that fired it."

"I'll get a big knife in the kitchen," offered Clarissa. "It won't be traceable if it has to be used. But Green has a master key. Can't he just get one of Charles's guns from the cabinet in the gun room?"

"No," said her husband. "Green said that only Charles and Felicity have keys to the guns. I don't know where Thomas keeps his .38. We'll have to rely on a butcher knife from the kitchen and the soap club. But if we do this right, they'll be dead before they realize that anything is wrong."

Lois looked at Susan, and both girls were white-faced with fear from hearing this exchange. Lois lifted a hand to her trembling mouth.

Susan reached into her purse for the 25 pistol. She was turning, gesturing to Lois to follow. She wanted to reach the Challengers and the Roxtons before this murderous trio did!

Suddenly, Green stepped around the corner from the hall, aiming a gun at the girls. "Just stay put, you little bitches," he snarled. "Giles! Come see what I've caught!"

Havilland was already beside the door. He wrenched it open, seizing Susan's arm as her hand came out of the purse, holding the Colt.

Susan tried desperately to twist her arm free, flicking off the thumb safety on the .25. But Havilland was too strong, and Clarissa was instantly there, holding her from behind. Susan decided to shoot Green in the leg or abdomen, for she could raise her hand no higher with the woman holding her and Havilland trying to twist the Colt from her grasp.

But her grip was imperfect, and she couldn't press the trigger. Then, she remembered the grip safety, the little lever on most Colt automatics that has to be fully pressed into the back of the gun to allow the weapon to fire. She couldn't hold the small gun right to fully depress the safety before Giles Frost had wrenched the pistol from her. She felt herself being pulled into the room by Havilland, who had his hand over her mouth.

Susan saw Lois with her hands up, being herded into the room, also. She felt her life flash before her, and wished that she had done more before coming to her probable fate on this awful night.

"Get your hands up and stand over there," commanded Green, pointing his Luger at Susan and Lois. "Don't make any noise if you want to keep on living."

He herded the girls into a corner and had each place her hands on the wall and lean into it, one at each side of the corner.

"Get the blonde bimbo's purse," Giles ordered, and his wife seized it off the hall floor, where Susan had dropped it.

She looked through it, found nothing special, and set it aside.

"Now, what?" she demanded. "These girls were sneaking around and may have been out there since we came in here."

"We weren't!" Lois cried. "I swear, we just heard voices and walked over right before Mr. Green found us. Why are you pointing a gun at us? What were you doing in here that's so secretive?"

"We sneaked into the kitchen and heated up some leftovers," Susan admitted, "but that's no reason to do this to us. I'll pay for the food if it's that big an issue. But it wasn't your food; it belonged to the Lindemeres."

Havilland chuckled. "Nice try, ladies. But I'm afraid that you heard more than is good for us...or yourselves."

"They heard too much," Green confirmed. "I saw their faces, and they were scared of what you'd said. They were just about to leave when I caught them. So, what now? We can't just let them go."

"Please..." whimpered Lois." I swear, we won't tell. We really don't want to get in trouble for being in the kitchen. I could lose my job. We aren't in this will. We don't care who gets how much."

Green gave her a scornful look. "Lois, shut up. You probably wouldn't get fired for snacking late and bringing your new friend. We aren't fools. It looks bad for you girls. Don't make us any angrier by saying idiotic things like you have."

Susan thought of another approach. "You could share the money with us to be quiet. Then, we'd be part of your plot. We couldn't say anything. And Lady Roxton is a bitch. She treats me badly. I feel like a poor serving girl around her. And she didn't start life any better than I did! Where's the justice in that? She just married a rich man with a title."

"Girls, just quit trying," Havilland told them. "I'm not about to let you go. You definitely heard too much, and I don't for a moment believe what you said about the charming Marguerite. I've seen you with her and the others, the Challengers. You're all pretty close. You damned near worship Mrs. Challenger, and she's the Roxton slut's best friend. I'm afraid that it will have to go hard with you. I wish that you hadn't come down for that late night snack, I really do. It isn't personal, you know. But we have to protect ourselves."

Susan was wondering if she should make a desperate try to seize Mrs. Frost and use her as a hostage when she heard Green say, "Don't lets be hasty, friends. I've just thought of something that will benefit the girls and keep our secret, too. Could be the best solution for everyone."

"And what might that be?" snapped a suspicious Clarissa Frost. "If you're thinking like a man, considering letting them off because they're pretty..."

"I'll tell you in a moment," said Green. "Giles go over and cut some rope off the curtain- pulling strings. We need to tie them up. Then, I want to talk privately with all three of you. If what I have in mind suits you, they live, we make money off of them, and they still don't get a chance to betray us."

Giles Frost had to borrow a knife from Havilland to cut the rope from the curtains, and he wished that he was taller when he reached up to sever the cords. He had always resented taller men, and suspected that Clarissa had married him largely because he had money and social connections. Fortunately, they had discovered similar natures in one another, and had eventually become closer than either had really hoped when Clarissa had traded her looks and family name for his influence and financial abilities.

When he had the cords, Havilland tied first Susan, then Lois, their wrists crossed behind them. Lois was weeping softly, so afraid that she only half registered having her hands pulled off of the wall, taken behind her, and bound.

Susan had been tied before, by slavers in Africa, and she remembered that with horror. But she also knew what it was to be secured to a hopeless degree. Her wrists then were bound, then rebound, and tied to a length of rope around her waist. The knots had been firm and professionally tied. She and her fellow captive Holly Delaterre had soon given up hope of getting loose. They had been as effectively held as when they later wore chains instead of ropes.

Susan tested the ropes when she was tied now, hoping that these amateur English murderers and inheritance thieves would be less skilled in binding frightened women. But when Havilland was done, Green insisted on inspecting his work, with Clarissa looking on to be sure that Havilland hadn't been lax, out of gallantry. In fact, Green did retie Lois's hands. Susan's hopes sank. She had been well tied, after all, although she thought that she might be able to slip her hands around in front later, if they were left alone for long enough. One of the slavers had told her that the reason that her hands had been tied to her waist earlier was in fact to prevent that. If either she or Lois got their hands in front, maybe they could use their teeth to loosen the ropes...

The men marched the girls over to the far corner of the room and made them kneel. First, Havilland searched them, taking Lois's white cap and apron. He seemed to enjoy his work until Clarissa said that if anything more thorough was needed, it would be her who searched.

"All right," said a ruffled Havilland. "Then, get over here and unbutton Susie's dress and check her brassiere for a knife like her boss carries. Remember when she pulled that on Randt?"

Blushing, but aware that he had a point, Clarissa went over, turned Susan to face her, undid the top three buttons on her low-cut yellow dress and checked her bodice. Finding nothing (although the men might have disputed that opinion!), she turned Susan roughly and made her kneel, her dress pulled up enough to allow her to do so in the slim skirt.

The conspirators then convened near the door. Susan heard Clarissa snicker- a mean sound- and the men chuckled. After that, she heard the will and other papers being shuffled and returned to the lawyers' files and replaced in the safe.

Green lifted each girl and turned her to kneel, facing the criminals. "Ladies, I've thought of something that may interest you, for it is the only way that we are going to let you live. I have a friend in Bristol whose runs a knock shop. Does a brisk business with sailors as well as with gents. You two are going to be his new girls. You'll serve there for maybe a month while he makes arrangements, then you'll be shipped off to one of the Arab countries as slaves. The same fate that you, Susan, once so narrowly avoided. But you'll be alive."

"You won't be singing to the cops there, I'll wager," laughed Clarissa, a smug look replacing the overt hostility that she had formerly displayed.

"What's a knock shop?" asked the relatively naive Susan.

Lois sobbed, "It's a damned whorehouse, is what! I overheard my brother and a mate bragging once how they went to one in London and had some girls there. They joked that it was a cheap date, considering. But how do we know that this man will sell us to Arabs? Maybe he'll just keep us there as prostitutes that he never lets out. But what if he doesn't accept us at all? Are you going to kill us?"

Green patted her on the head. "No worries, pet. With your looks and Susie's, he'll find room for you. And when I tell him that you have a tale to tell that will sink all of us if it gets out, he'll find some of his Arab friends to buy you. He'll get a good price, probably better than usual, for he sells several girls a year, especially if he gets a good offer or one bird is acting up. The others know when one is sold or otherwise made to disappear. It keeps them in line."

"Now, stand up and let me gag you. We'll take you to a room in a little used part of the manor until we've finished other work. Goodness knows what Lord Lindemere and his guests will think when you're gone and Lady Roxton, maybe her loving husband, also, wake up dead. But there's nothing to cast any special suspicion on us. "The police may friggin' KNOW that Lady Roxton was murdered, but if they can't produce a reasonable suspect, we'll all walk. And her share of the inheritance goes into the general pool for the rest of us to share. Maybe the cops will think that you girls were involved, and escaped with your accomplices. That'd be a hoot." He grinned evilly.

Lois and Susan were pulled roughly to their feet, and Havilland used his pocketknife to cut up Lois's apron, using strips from it to gag each girl. He said that they might be blindfolded later, but that now, it would make little difference. "You'll be locked in a dark room, and no one will know where. I don't care if you can see until we're ready to move you off of the premises. That may be a few days, for we can't afford to leave until after the will is read and things settle down when the police leave. With luck, I'll smother Lady Roxton so smoothly that her husband never wakes up. He may even be the main suspect if her death isn't accepted as natural. Green has a master key that will fit their room, and we should be able to get in quietly. People will just think they forgot to lock the door."

"Wait here, with the lights out," Green told the Frosts. "Havilland and I will take the girls to their new quarters and return before we make our move on the Roxtons. Here, give me some more rope to tie their feet when we get the little lovelies in their new room."

Then, the girls were taken out and up the back stairs. They went to the third level of the manor, which was seldom used these days. It was shut off for much of the winter, to save on heating bills.

Unlocking a door at one end of a hall, Green thrust the girls inside and pulled chairs over to the middle of the room. He checked to see that the heavy drapes were closed and then addressed the captive women.

"You ladies can each have a seat in a moment and we'll tie your ankles to the chairs. I think we may need to cut some more drapery cords and tie your waists to the chairs, too." But first, where were we when the darling Clarissa told us that she would be in charge of searching you? I think we'll finish that now, in case we missed anything earlier." He looked at his companion and they laughed.

"Havilland, why don't you search Lois while I look under little Susie's pretty dress?"

And Green had Susan stand still as he lifted her skirt above her waist and had her turn as he admired her shapely legs and tasteful lingerie. His eyes lingered on her garter belt and stockings and the brief white panties that owed their origins to Finn's 21st Century styling tastes.

Even Lois was impressed, with Susan's legs and the rest.

Then, it was her turn, with the men making admiring noises and feeling what they wanted to on both girls. When the buttons on their dresses were undone and their tops pulled down for inspection of what lay beneath their clothing, Havilland whistled appreciatively. "Greenie, these girls will be accepted by your friend, no questions about it. I'm half tempted to keep one of them for myself."

"Forget it," said Green. "That'd be like us committing suicide. You don't have anywhere safe to keep her and she'd sooner or later get away and cook our gooses. Geese. Whatever. Let's put their bras and tops back on in case Clarissa comes in and makes a row about it. Then, we'll tie them in their chairs and get about our business."

Soon, the girls were bound in the chairs, and the men left, turning out the light. Not only did they not want it seen from outside; they wanted Lois and Susan to be afraid in the dark, and more obedient when they returned. Frightened girls behave better than confident ones...

It was at first totally silent, apart from ice rattling faintly on the roof. Then, Susan heard faint noises in the walls that she feared might be rats! Soon, she heard Lois crying as best she could behind her gag. Susan whimpered herself. Then, she stifled the fear and tried to think of a way to attract help.

What would Mrs. Challenger or Lady Roxton do, she wondered? They would think of something! But it was also true that Lady Roxton had been a slave in Amarrah for about a year the first time that she was kidnapped. Susan had heard her story, and knew that only a chance meeting with a German arms salesman had enabled her to escape her master's seraglio. And Susan wondered if she and Lois would be that fortunate.

I guess that we'd better plan on learning to dance and do other seductive things really well, she mused. What terrified her, though, was that she wasn't quite sure whether to believe the story that they had been told. Something spoke softly to her, telling her that Green and the others would never leave her and Lois alive to tell what they had done at Lindemere Manor.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lord Roxton was brushing his teeth late that night when he heard singing coming from the room behind him.

His wife had recently memorized the words to the medieval ballad, "Greensleeves", and often hummed or sang it. She had a melodious voice, and he rather enjoyed it, if she didn't repeat the performance too often Tonight, it had a soothing sound and he decided that he liked it He finished what he was doing, wiped his mouth, and walked into the bedroom wearing what he had been born in.

Marguerite stopped singing, and looked him up and down as she began applauding.

"What's that about?" he muttered. "Liked your singing that well, did you?"

"Oh, John," she said, and whistled, as men do at pretty girls. "You'll get me all disturbed and rowdy, and make me want to stay up for hours, seeing how long I can make you last, for the first time, anyway." She slipped off her black, lace-trimmed panties - knickers to her nationality- and walked sensuously over to him, caressing him, running her hands all over him. She rubbed noses with him, and then went for a liplock.

His hands returned the roving embrace, and then began questing for her erotic points, causing her to breathe heavily before she whispered a lewd suggestion into the ear that she was nibbling. He chuckled, agreed to her request, and they danced briefly, waltzing their way around the room twice.

Marguerite began humming, "Greensleeves" again, smiling as she looked into her beloved mate's eyes. Pure mischief was on her own face as she tripped him, initiating their tumble into the covers.

She lay moaning as he ran his hands and lips over her strategic zones, igniting fires in her flesh wherever his hands moved.

After several minutes, the Earl said, "Roll over and get up on your knees, Lady Roxton. I want to have you ala 'doggy'."

"Ummm," she murmured. "Do me on my back for a few moments first. Then, I'll do anything you want. I'll even say, 'Bow Wow' while you hump me in the manner of the canine kennels. If you're really good, I may even bark for you. Which sound do you want to hear? I do marvelous renditions of a French poodle and a Chihuahua. Maybe later, I'll try for an Alsatian, but I always think of them as having a masculine image, and I'm not into that. I'm happy thinking of myself as being all girl."

"You are definitely 'all girl', madam. I noticed that the instant I first laid eyes on you."

"Yes," she said, muffling a giggle. "And you've been after me to get down on my knees naked in front of you ever since. Oh, go ahead. You can do me missionary style in a while. Then, I have some other ideas, if you can last that long. If not, I'll just have to wait awhile while we smooch and I find a way to get your interest up again. 'Up' again, Roxton. That's a pun. Get it?"

"In fact, yes," he laughed. "I am, after all, a graduate of Sandhurst, the finest miitary academy in the world. I've been trained to use my mind quite well, thank you."

"It's not your mind that I plan to use just now," she joked. "All right, I'm there, in your favorite position. Are my forequarters low enough and my rear high enough for your preferences, John?" She wriggled her posterior and arched her back before undulating her loins in a way that raised his blood pressure to a level that would be dangerous in some men.

"Were you serious about barking?" he asked, intrigued that she would suggest such a thing, although she frequently razzed him about his fondness for taking her in this position and variants on it.

Marguerite laughed as she felt him enter her. "What voice do you want, John? This turns me on nearly as much as it does you, but it's bloody undignified, and I'm blamed if I'm going to sound like a Pekinese. Choose some other dog." She began laughing almost uncontrollably as he began to move within her shaft of delight, and then moaned as he triggered a response in the area that would someday become known as the Graffenburg Spot.

"I believe you offered to mimic a French poodle, Marguerite," he recalled. "Something about the French element appeals to me on an erotic note."

"John! I was joking! I can't bark any better while pretending to be one breed of dog than another! Just be glad that you've got me down like this and so happy to be here. Ahhh! Do that again, deep like that! Oh, John...Yes! John, more! Faster!"

"French poodle, Marguerite," he ordered. "And remember, I know what they sound like!" And he thrust again, turning her intended sarcastic reply into a moan of delight.

Outside the door to the Roxton bedroom, the Frosts, Green, and Havilland paused, listening carefully for any sound that might indicate that those within still lay awake. Green remembered not to let his key ring jingle.

Clarissa pressed her ear to the wooden door, and then looked up with a baffled expression.

"What?" demanded her husband.

"Listen," she ordered. "It's deathly quiet in this hallway. Everyone else is asleep. But this...I never..." Her hand went up to her mouth in mild shock as the sound came again, louder.

Now, the others heard it, too. A feminine voice in the room was barking like a dog!

"Whatever must those people be doing?" wondered Giles Frost.

"Never you mind, dear," snapped his wife. "Come on, everyone. It's obvious that they're still awake. The good news is, whatever they're doing in there will probably tire them out before long, and they'll sleep sounder. I should hope so. It's nearly 2:30 in the morning." She led the way quietly downstairs.

The foursome had barely begun whispering, planning their next move, when they heard a door open on the next floor.

"Is that them?" whispered Green.

Clarissa merely held a finger to her lips and pulled her husband and Havilland back under the staircase. Giles got out his Webley .32 in case they were discovered.

They heard light steps on the carpet above, and then Challenger's voice carried to them. "Finn! Dammit, get back in here and put on some clothes! What the devil are you doing, Darling?"

"Hush, Genius! I just want to see that big buffalo head again. I swear, next year, you're taking me to Africa again, and I'm shooting one even bigger!"

"All right, then," he agreed. "But at least put on this robe. You can't go galloping out of our room starkers like that! What if someone is still up?"

"At this hour? We're the only ones who are horny enough to still be awake. And you finally wore even me out. I'll be back in there in a moment. Look, George! Those horns are over 50 inches from tip-to-tip! I bet that if I plant a .400 bullet right at the base of the horns that even a buff that size would drop like a lead balloon. To coin a phrase..."

"Speaking of lead balloons, Nicole, I'm about to drop like one. Can't you admire that thing in the morning? I mean, LATER In the morning?"

"Oh, okay, Genius. I just wanted a quick look. But I mean it: we're going back to Kenya next year. Please, Lover? With honey on it?" She stood on tiptoe and kissed her much taller husband seductively.

He spanked her on the bottom, a sound that was easily recognizable below. Clarissa blushed, and the men looked at one another sheepishly and grinned.

"Darling, I'll think about it. Really. I would rather like to go. I'll plan some experiments to keep me busy while you selectively shoot up the buffalo herds. I'd prefer to book the same hunters again. Would you like that?"

"Oh, can we? Those guys are super, and I want to see how Holly and Diana like marriage, too." Diana Hardy and Holly Delaterre were among the girls taken by the slavers whom they had defeated, and had married the group's white hunters soon after that adventure.

"That's settled then, barring unforeseen circumstances," promised the renowned scientist. "Now come to bed, Nicole, or I'll spank you for real! I'm tired."

"Okay, Lover. But I want to shoot another big elephant carrying a hundred pounds of ivory a side, too. And a couple more lions."

"Nicole Elizabeth Challenger..."

"Okay, George, okay, I'm coming. I'm tired, too. And I can't wait to see the circus today when that will is read. I just hope that Marguerite gets more than enough change to work that ball gum machine that you invented, for years!"

"Marguerite doesn't chew gum, young lady, and you probably shouldn't either."

Finn laughed. "Well, no one is perfect. You don't seem to mind my other raw lusts, Genius. Hey, are you really pretty tired?"

"Exhausted. Try me after I get a cup of tea in me later today." He led her back into their room, and those listening below heard the door shut and the latch turn.

Shaking his head in mirth and frustration, Havilland gestured to the other schemers to follow him into the den.

There, he quietly told them that they had better go to their rooms for another two hours. "By then, the Earl's lusty Lady who barks like a dog while she's being taken and the blonde huntress and her brilliant husband should be asleep. They'd better be: we'll only have one more chance tonight."

"I can't go out to my own quarters," noted Green. He lived in a separate house behind the lesser servants' rooms. "I'll go up and see how Susie and Lois are getting along."

"Don't let those girls lull you into becoming careless, Green," admonished Clarissa. "They're both smart, and that Susan wench wants to be a heroine, like her beloved lady boss. Whatever fun you plan with them, leave them tied during it. And do them one at a time."

Green nodded, and then asked, "Why did Challenger call his wife, 'Nicole'? I thought her name was Finn? He called her that, too."

"It's in her book," explained Havilland. "I bought a copy. Her maiden name was Nicole Elizabeth Finnegan. Finn is her nickname. I'm going to bed for an hour or two. Wake me when you're ready to do the dirty deed." He yawned.

"In an hour or two then," they agreed.

"And, Green...I mean it about those girls," warned Clarissa. "Blindfold one while you fondle the other, or whatever you plan to do. And leave both tied. Women are more dangerous than we seem, especially if as desperate as those two are."

Green nodded, and headed for the back stairs, going as quietly as he could.

Finn lay on the verge of sleep. The lights were off, and she was snuggled against her man's chest. Something nagged at her, keeping her awake. Then, it came to her. "Hey, Genius? I just thought of something. Did you smell perfume out in the hall? Not mine. I'm wearing that citrus stuff that you've been blending for me since we were in the Treehouse. Marguerite was wearing her lavender scent tonight, and she's been in bed for hours. This was muskier and more floral. I think that Clarissa Frost wears that type."

Challenger groaned. Why introduce a female subject like that now? Were women indifferent to proper timing? "I'll try to make you some like it when we get home, if you want," he muttered." Just ask her what brand it is. Now, go to sleep, Darling."

"You're missing the point here, George. I mean. why would we smell her out there now? She'd have had to be in the hall not long before I went out."

"I told you to put on some clothes, Nicole. Do you think she saw you?"

Finn shook her head, her husband feeling the motion for what it was. "No. She was gone by then, but not by much, I bet. What would she be doing out there at this hour?"

"Maybe she went to see Marguerite. They are half-sisters."

"Marguerite said that she was going to ambush Johnny and teach him what it's like to be married to the hottest broad alive. I told her that I'd tell her how to seem like me." She giggled at her joke, which had amused Marguerite, who had had another woman in mind as having superior romantic skills.

"Go to sleep," begged Challenger. "We'll think about it when we get up. I'm sure that there's a simple scientific explanation for it."

Finn wasn't as sure, but she said no more, knowing that her mate was sleepy.

But in fact, after his wife had drifted off, Challenger lay awake, wondering why the perfume odor had been there. None of the possible answers left him feeling reassured.

He checked to be certain that his .45 was in the nightstand drawer, and got up to place a chair back under the doorknob, although the door was also locked.

Stumbling back into bed, he cuddled against Finn and slept, feeling uneasy as he relinquished consciousness

CHAPTER EIGHT

Green went up the stairs and used his master key to enter the locked room on the third floor where two bound, terrified women heard the key turn in the lock and shivered as they wondered what mignt come next on this dreadful night.

"Evening, ladies," he greeted them. "There's been a change in plans. I have an hour or so to kill, so I thought I'd renew our brief acquaintance."

He checked their bonds and saw that Susan's ankles were not as snug as they had been. Her skirt was narrow, so they had tied her feet with crossed ankles, and then run the rope to a limb on the chair. Lois had a fuller skirt, so they had simply pulled it up a little and had her spread her legs until one foot could be tied to each of the front chair legs.

Green asked if they wanted water, and both gagged girls nodded their eyes fearful.

He went into the bathroom of the suite and ran the tap until the water, unused for weeks, ran fresh and clear. There were glasses in the cabinet, and he filled one and removed the gags long enough for each to drink.

Then, he re-gagged the brown-haired Lois, playing with her neck and face with his fingers, watching Susan's reaction from the corner of an eye. He had admired Lois since she began work a short time before, and he knew that Thomas the butler also liked her.

Todd Green disliked Thomas, whom he considered too honorable, and who outranked him in the hierarchy of servants on the estate. He was tempted to molest Lois in part because he knew that Thomas wanted her. But the blonde, classier Susan Wilson intrigued him even more. And she was a woman close to the rich people whom he resented. A bit more innocent than Lois, too, he fancied. And the way that she stood and walked and moved enticed him, being more ladylike than the earthier, working-class Lois.

He remembered the expensive, tasteful-yet-sexy underwear that he had glimpsed earlier. It was certainly more arousing than Lois's plain, bulkier garments, typical of the times. And he liked the raw dread in Susan's blue eyes more than the dull, frightened, resignation in Lois's brown ones. Lois was a trapped doe deer. Susan was a graceful, exotic antelope. Although nice, and lovely by her class standards, Lois was good quality margarine. Susan was the high-priced "spread", pun maybe intended. Not of the aristocracy, but well bred and increasingly refined from the bank clerk that she had been. Rubbing shoulders with the Challengers and the Roxtons and their noble friends was polishing her beyond her former station in life.

He wanted both, for each had her attractions. But time was limited tonight, and he wanted to try an experiment.

He lifted Lois's chin and stared into her eyes. She dropped them submissively, acknowledging that she knew that she was his for the taking, and that she expected nothing more from him, or from any man in whose power she found herself. Coming from her peasant ancestors and her present day social station, Lois knew what men wanted from girls, and that they usually took it, given an opportunity. She had been afraid for some time that she would have to submit to either Thomas's or Green's advances if she was to keep her job. And she knew that if they forced themselves on her, her word against that of a man senior to her in employment would likely just get her called a liar. Even a two-timing slut...

Susan's station was high enough that men treated her with more deference and courtship, if their ultimate goal was the same. She would be more easily shocked by any liberties that Green took with her. That pleased him. Gave him a chance to put the little toff-serving bitch in her place...

"Susie, your feet need to be tied to the chair like Lois's. I think that'd be more secure. And while your ankles are loose, you can slip off that dress and let me have a look at the goods. Is old Challenger banging you as well as his sexy little huntress wife?"

Susan was predictably shocked. "No, Sir. Prof. Challenger loves Finn and they are one of the happiest couples whom I've ever laid eyes on. He is a gentleman, and that issue has never arisen, although I think that if Finn thought he wanted threesomes, she'd at least think hard about me joining them. She likes taking care of him and she's pretty broadminded about sex, I suspect. But they aren't really the sort of people that some aristocrats are. They're very decent to me and to their other help. And I'm not taking off my dress for you. I'm not that sort of girl."

"You had better become that sort of girl, fast. Otherwise, bad things are going to happen to poor Lois." He took out his knife and snapped it open with an ominous click as the locking blade engaged. "Lois, my pretty, what do you want cut tonight? Your left ear? Your nose? Your cheeks? Get my drift, Susie? And I mean it. I'd rather sell both of you girls to my friend, but unless you cooperate, neither of you is going to last the night. That might be best for me and the others, anyway. If you live, you may talk to someone who can't be trusted, eh?" He looked hard at her.

"Put away the knife, Mr. Green," said Susan. "You've made your point. I can't be responsible for you hurting poor Lois. The only reason she's in this room now is because I got her to help me make a meal so late. I'll do what you want, but I'm not terribly experienced at pleasing a man. Despite what most people think, those slavers who captured me in Kenya never had their way with me. The Sultan of Amarrah had forbidden that. We were molested short of what most think. I'm still a virgin, and have only been with dates who petted heavily a few times. But I feel sure that you'll know what I have to do to satisfy you, no pun intended. Just leave Lois alone and get on with your plans for me."

Green unbound Susan and had her stand in the middle of the room and strip. He took her panties as a souvenir, being impressed with their relative brevity for that time, which he made her explain. He then tied Susan's hands firmly behind her again and had he kneel in front of him as he explained what he expected from her.

She had barely begun to comply with these demands when someone tapped softly at the door. Green swore, and buttoned his trousers. "Stay there, slut. I'm not done with you. Lois, better be thinking how to do well when it's your turn!"

He opened the door and Havilland stood there. He slipped in and took in the scene. "Green, you're needed below. We want to make some last minute plans, and then we have to act. Time is getting away from us, and the Roxtons' room is quiet."

Green swore, but led Susan back to her chair. He made her sit and tied her waist to the back of the chair as Havilland bound her feet to the legs. He didn't allow her to dress, and she blushed with shame and embarrassment under the men's amused scrutiny. She wore only her lacy white garter belt, stockings, and high heeled shoes, which Green had found erotic enough to let her retain.

"Susie here is going to do her best to keep us happy so that she and Lois will get fed and watered and allowed to live, aren't you, Susie?" Green was still angry at the interruption.

"Yes, Sir," stammered Susan. "And if you bring up my suitcase, I'll model my other knickers for you. Lois will look good in some, too. We'll be really good to you if you won't hurt us."

Lois eagerly nodded assent when she saw Havilland looking at her.

Green laughed a low, cruel sound. "Until later, girls. Be thinking up ways to please us. "He lifted Susan's gag.

"Please, Mr. Green." pleaded Susan. "Will you at least tell me why you're doing this? What did Lady Roxton ever do to you?"

Green hesitated and looked at Havilland. That worthy shrugged. "Tell her, Green. I'll just unbutton Lois's dress and have a little fun to tide her over until we return. But hurry. We haven't long before we have to leave."

"Very well," said Green stiffly. "If Lord Lindemere audits the books and finds some discrepancies in my stable records, I'm through here. And if Lady Roxton joins the family, that's more likely to happen, I bet. He may sell the estate, anyway, and I'm out of a job. They already have their former house and may not keep this one. Havilland here and I and the Frosts have been smuggling certain profitable items and hiding them in the stables, where I lock them away from the other help.

"Havilland recognized Lady Roxton from her pictures in the press and knew her as someone who's dealt with the same crooked art and antiquities dealer we work with. But she's supposedly reformed, become just a gentlewoman and a mother. If that art is ever discovered, she'd know that it's stolen and would tell Lindemere and tell him what it's worth. If she starts hanging around here, she may learn something.

"As for the rest, the main thing is to kill her so that the overall inheritance increases. Clarissa's husband, Giles, had some gambling debts that have set them back a goodly sum. They need the money. That's why the others were killed. The bloke who bled out internally ingested some tiger whiskers that I slipped into his food when I sent a cook on an errand one night before dinner. He was the only one having chicken that night, and I knew which plate was his. The amount of inheritance that freed up is quite a bit. Old man Lindemere thought highly of him. He was to have gotten 75,000 pounds. That's real money! Even shared out, we'll all get a good deal. Same for Randt, although he was getting less. But more than enough to make killing him worthwhile. Besides, he was a surly bastard, and if he took to coming here, he'd be trouble."

"Where did you get the snake that you put in the Roxtons' room?" Susan wondered how much more he would tell before Havilland insisted that the men leave. Fortunately, he seemed to be having fun playing with Lois's breasts, having unbuttoned her dress and stripped it down to her waist. She looked miserable.

"The snake?" asked Havilland, speaking now. "Hell, we didn't do that. I think Randt did. He probably wanted Lady Roxton dead for some of the same reasons we did. He was always turning up bumming money. If Charles got a sister who heard of it, she might talk him out of giving him more. She'd have seen him for what he was: a lush, a gambler, and an all-round rotter. And he'd want to increase the inheritance by killing her for the same reasons we have. And Marguerite and her pal Finn Challenger had run-ins with Randt. He hated them for humiliating him.

"I found a weird foreign basket like snake charmers use in his room when Green and I broke his neck. We left it, not knowing yet about the snake, but the police didn't pay any attention to it, so far. They'll probably eventually figure that he put the snake in their room, and I guess he did. Probably got the snake from some gypsies. He knew some: they helped him to sell things that he stole. Or, so old Lord Lindemere once said. He was trying to make him go straight. Said he'd put him in his will, if he'd stop sullying the family name. So, I'd guess the gypsies or some such lot sold him the cobra. I hope to Hell that it was just the one."

"We need to go, ladies," interrupted Green. "More tales later, but that's about the lot. Susie, open your mouth. I'll try to get this gag on as comfortably as I can. I'll let you finish what you were about to do later today. Plan on doing more, too. You, also, Lois. I bet that you're hotter than Miss Prim here, too. Probably got more hands-on experience." He chuckled.

"Wait!" exclaimed Susan. "Just one last thing: are the Lindemeres in this, too? I know that Clarissa hates her new half-sister. What about Charles and Felicity?"

Green tied the gag as he answered. "No, hell, no. The Tremaynes are first class gentry. Very noble, kind people. Charles and Clarissa have had a nasty case of sibling dislike for most of their lives. She was furious to learn about Marguerite. He and Felicity were excited that the missing heiress had been found, and that they might have a sister for Charles whom he could like. They think the way that Marguerite was treated was terrible, and want to make it up to her."

Susan tried to talk through the gag. Havilland listened carefully and said, "I think you asked about the dead witch. Having her come here was Clarissa's idea. She wanted to scare Marguerite off or cause unrest among the staff that might cause Charles to ask her to leave as soon as she got her money. And stay away! Didn't work. Anyway, Giles called me on my way here and told me what happened. We decided to kill the witch and leave that note on her body as a red herring. Something to confuse the police and make them think that a witchcraft suppressing cult was behind it. That's where Greenie here was when he was missed. I met him near town, and Clarissa knew where the old bitch lived.

Look, if you girls have any other questions, they'll have to wait. Giles and Clarissa will be beside themselves, wondering what's keeping us. I'll tell them that we made you two compete to see who was best at what Susan was doing when I came in." He found this very amusing, judging from his foul laugh.

And turning out the light, the men left two frightened, half-dressed women in the dark again, dreading what was to come to both them and to the innocent Roxton couple.

CHAPTER NINE

Some 15 minutes later, the girls were horrified to hear someone coming up the stairs. But they could hear through the door better than those who had left them there probably realized. And what they heard wasn't Green and Havilland, but muffled male laughter and a female giggle. Susan hoped that it wasn't Giles and Clarissa.

Susan screamed as loudly as she could through her gag and Lois, jolted by that, did the same They couldn't move the chairs enough to make any appreciable noise, but the sound of their muffled voices seemed to have been heard. They had just been cleave-gagged, no stuffing having been placed in their mouths to better silence them. The noise beyond the door stopped. Silence…

Beyond the door, Mick Waring and Sheila Holmes, enroute to find a place to spend some time alone where they wouldn't be found, stopped in their tracks. They looked at each other in amazement as the screaming voices were faintly heard through the door.

"Rats, love?" inquired the baffled Australian heir.

"No, Mick, I shouldn't think so. Actually, I think that sounded like girls." She produced her maid's key. "Maybe we'd better look, eh, with all that's been happening?"

They were planning their rendezvous for the next room, and might as well check this one. Sheila always carried her master key, although rooms were seldom locked unless guests were in them.

She unlocked the door of the next room, and Waring went in and got a poker from the fireplace. He wished for a better weapon, but that was what was available. Then, Sheila opened the door at the end of the hall.

They were shocked to see to see Susan sitting bound in a chair, wearing so little, and Lois with her dress peeled down to her waist, both gagged and looking very frightened.

"Here, what's this, then?" demanded Waring. He looked around and saw no one else, so he and Sheila went over and ungagged Susan and Lois, who began speaking together at once.

The story was soon out, and Waring reached for his pocketknife to cut the girls' bonds.

Lois pulled on her bra and dress, sobbing softly with relief and shame as Susan lunged for her yellow dress and her bra. Waring gallantly turned his back as she dressed.

"That bastard Green has got my knickers," she complained. "And those aren't all that he planned to take from us. Look, we have to save the Roxtons! Clarissa Frost and her minions will be going after them at any moment."

She wanted to go at once to the Challengers, being Finn's employee, but their room was near the Roxtons, and if the murderers saw them as they approached the Roxtons' room, who knew what might happen?

"This is all so sudden and so frightening," wailed Sheila. "Oh, dash it all, I shall probably be sacked for being up here with Mr. Waring, but I think we need to wake the Lindemeres." Their room was on the second floor, but down the opposite wing of the house from the guest rooms. To reach them, the girls and Waring would have to go downstairs and into that wing of the mansion. They would have to go across a landing next to the stairs by the Challengers' room. One might as well wake them as the Roxtons. But that would leave them to be discovered by the plotters!

"There's a telephone," observed Waring looking at one on an end table. "Can we use it to call other rooms?"

"Well, we have three lines here," Lois remembered. "If we go to the kitchen, we can use the service line to call the main number, and the Lindemeres might answer."

"Lois, this is the third floor. There's a service telephone in the maid's room here," Sheila recalled. She had been there longer than Lois.

She led the way to the maid's station in a room down the hall, and Waring started to dial the manor's main number.

He hung up, saying, "Ladies, if the 'phones ring, who knows what that lot will do? It might set them off and cause others to be hurt, too. I vote that we stay together and get to the Roxtons as fast as we can, and wake the Challengers, too. That done, we'll rouse the Lindemeres."

"They have at least three guns," warned Susan, "A Webley .32 automatic like the police have, and the Colt .25 that they took from me. And Green has one of those German pistols, a Luger."

"Oh, joy," muttered Waring. "Have the Roxtons got any guns? I haven't."

"Yes," said Susan. "Be careful waking them. We don't want to be mistaken for villains."

"Right, then, here we go," said Waring. "Me and an army of Amazons! Most blokes probably dream of adventures something like this. Sheila, stick close to me. We have some unfinished business." He pulled her over and kissed her.

"Mick, really!" she stammered.

"Yes, bloody 'really'", he responded. "And if I get hurt, you have to promise to be my personal nurse."

They reached the Roxtons' door safely, and rapped on it as quietly as they thought would rouse the residents. Susan knocked on the Challengers' door, a signal of three knocks, repeated twice. That meant to them that it was her, and that something was urgent. They used that signal at home, and she knew that they would recognize it.

Roxton reached his door first, wary, a gun in his hand behind the door. "What the hell is it?" he muttered. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yeh, almost four AM, but we have some news that you'd better hear, mate." Mick spoke urgently. "Clarissa Frost and her mob are on their way here to smother you. Get some clothes on. They kidnapped Lois and Susie here, and we just freed them. The girls told me a flaming earful, and you'd better hear the lot."

Roxton gave him a careful look, and then saw Susan trying to rouse the Challengers. She nodded quickly, and Roxton took her word for it that something was wrong. He called over to Marguerite to dress and to arm herself, and threw on trousers and a shirt.

In the hall, he found George and Finn Challenger talking to Susan through their partially open door as they also scrambled to dress.

"Look," offered Susan. "We can hide in my room. They won't expect us to be there. And we can come out behind them once you've seen what they plan to do. That will convince you that we're telling the truth. Lois, stop that sobbing. You'll be fine. Mrs. Challenger is here now, and she'll look after us."

"I'll try to do a little of that, too," said Roxton dryly, amused that his closest female friend was being promoted as being the lead protector, a task that he normally assigned to himself.

George Challenger heard, and chuckled, knowing how Roxton felt. He intended doing as much or more than Finn, also. She was a deadly shot, and could be very bold when called for, but she was his wife, and he regarded himself as her primary defense. Still, he was very proud of her, and was flattered and pleased that Susan Wilson had Finn on a pedestal, much as he did, himself

The group retreated rapidly to Susan's room, which was unlocked. She was without her purse and keys, which were still in the possession of the conspirators, so would have been unable to access her room, had she locked it when she went to the kitchen. She wondered if Sheila's keys would fit her lock. Probably, but no need now.

Finn was still dressing, in a short-sleeved blue shirt like she wore on safari and a pair of American denim pants that Ned Malone had told her were called, "jeans." These had been made to her measurement, and flattered her slim, feminine figure. She stepped into sandals, and buckled on the gun belt with her Smith & Wesson .38 Special, the same model that she had used on the remote Brazilian plateau where she had met her husband and these dear friends who had become her family

Finn saw Challenger conferring with Roxton at the door and whispered, "Damn it, Genius, get back and guard Marguerite and the other women. We can't risk you being shot. You're a human treasure. All Britain and the world would lose a great man, not just me and the kids." She tugged at his sleeve. "Tell him, Johnny: George is an icon, not just my husband."

Marguerite loaned her Colt .32 to Mick Waring, whom she decided to trust. She ensured that he knew how to use it, and led Susan and the maids to a far corner of the room, where she guarded them with her spare gun, a Smith & Wesson like Finn's, but with a shorter four-inch barrel and rounded butt, which had real ivory grips with the maker's logo seal in gold at the top of them. The gun also had the company's highest grade of engraving. It had cost as much as either of these two girls probably made in a month, she reflected. The least that she could do was to protect them. And they were her new brother's employees, so there was a family duty, too, as well as the basic moral need. Over the years since she had met and eventually married Lord John Roxton, Marguerite Krux Roxton had accepted duty and morality on a whole different scale than she once had

She ran quickly to John now, kissing him and whispering, "Be careful, John. You, too, George, and Mr. Waring. Finny, please get back here and help me watch out for the girls. You have children, and it will kill George if you're hurt."

Finn looked stubborn. "If George stays, I stay. I'm Mrs. Him, and like I said, he's a national and human treasure. I'm not letting that bitch Clarissa and her thugs hurt him."

Finn motioned for Susan to come forward and loaned her her own Colt. 32 automatic. "Here, Susan. It works just like that .25. It's just bigger. Don't let them get this one away from you. Stay with me and protect the Genius. Marguerite will watch the other women. Won't you, Marguerite?" she asked meaningfully.

"She can't, Finn," explained Roxton. "Some of us have to wake the Tremaynes. I think Marguerite and I are the logical choices. Lois, come with us. They know you; you work here. Tell them what you told us. I don't want them thinking that we're daft and dreaming things. Clarissa is Charles's sister. He won't want to believe this."

Lois, still sniffling, nodded and hugged Susan as she left.

"Don't shoot us at the other end of the hall, "warned Roxton as he led Marguerite and Lois toward the Tremaynes' door. "We'll have them in crossfire, but have to watch out for each other."

No sooner had he spoken than the crew of miscreants appeared from the far end of the hall. They saw the Roxtons and Lois at once, of course, although they had advanced several yards down the hall before their presence registered.

Then, Havilland said, "Damn! It's them! And Lois is with them! She's told them! They know!" And he turned to run.

"Stop!" shouted Roxton and Waring, in unison. Lois screamed. Roxton raised his .45 automatic. Challenger and Waring raised their guns. Finn moved to cover the two maids and Susan, looking fearfully at her husband, praying silently that he would come to no harm.

An infuriated Giles Frost raised his .32 and snapped off a shot at the Roxtons. Four pistols returned his fire. Havilland shot back with the Colt .25 stolen from Susan Wilson,, and the would-be murderers turned to run.

They left Havilland dead on the hall floor, his heart and lungs penetrated by two .45 bullets and one from Marguerite's .38.

"Hold your fire!" shouted Challenger. "They're fleeing. The law won't sustain a plea of defense if we shoot them in the back!"

"Well, let's get after them. If they turn to shoot again, kill whoever fires at us! "Roxton yelled back. And the pursuit began.

They reached the back stairs, but Clarissa snapped off a shot from Giles's gun that struck Mick Waring in the left shoulder, and ducked around the corner.

"What the hell is going on?!" yelled Lord Lindemere. He was in the hall, in a robe, revolver in hand.

"Finn, you and Susan talk to him!" called Challenger.

The ladies designated quickly filled in their host on what was afoot, the terrified Lois and Sheila confirming their account.

Lady Lindemere, now in a robe and armed, ushered the girls into her bedroom and motioned to Marguerite to join them.

"Let the men deal with this. I want to hear the entirety of it, and straightaway!" Felicity looked both frightened and angry

The men pursuing the fleeing culprits heard a car engine rev behind the back door, and Clarissa fired another shot to cover her and Giles as they rushed out the door.

Roxton fired one more shot, and the men decided to go back upstairs, being unsure how the law would regard their pursuing the criminals.

They met Finn on the way down the back stairs, concerned about her husband. On hearing what had happened, she exclaimed, "Come on, Johnny, Genius! We can see them from our window!" And she ran into her room, grabbing her beloved Zeiss 8X30 binocular from beside the bed.

She drew open the curtains and Challenger got his own binocular. They saw the car carrying the villains swerve, then rush out of the main gates and toward the river. As they watched, it drove on for almost half a mile, then slid on a patch of ice and struck the bridge abutment as it reached the river. There was a flash, and a boom carried back to the mansion, clearly heard through the ornate glass window. The car erupted in flames.

"Give me that binocular!" shouted Tremayne. "My sister is in that car!"

Finn passed him the precise German optical instrument and stood, arms wrapped across her breasts, feeling devastated as he watched his blood kin and her minions burn. No one exited the car, probably having been killed or stunned in the crash. The flames were so intense that it was obvious that no one in the car could survive.

Lindemere watched for awhile as his wife came to put her arm around him. She said, "Oh, Charles! I'm so sorry. No matter what she did, I know how you must feel at this time."

He nodded, passed Finn her binocular, and hugged Felicity as he tried to suppress the tears that wanted to gush from his eyes.

Finn loaned Roxton her Zeiss glass and he studied the burning vehice. . "I'm afraid that it would be futile to try to reach them," he announced. There is a sheet of ice all over the lawn and on to the river and beyond. If we try to drive, we may end up like they did. Tremayne, I hardly know what to say. Your sister and her men meant to smother my wife and perhaps me. But I know that you must be grief stricken. I am so sorry for anything that we did that led to this. But I think that Marguerite and I were innocent victims of their greed and anger."

"True," chimed in Challenger. He stuck his .45 in his belt and drew Finn to him, each drawing comfort from the other.

They checked to be sure that Havilland was dead, and set up in Susan's room to treat Mick Waring. Sheila had gotten his shirt off, and held a wet cloth on the wound to stop the bleeding.

Challenger got him into the bathroom and massaged the shoulder to get it bleeding again, to remove foreign matter. He had Finn bring his magnifying glass and first aid kit, and cleaned the wound before irrigating it and using a long needle from Felicity Tremayne's sewing kit to ease the spent .32 caliber bullet out of the hole that it had made in Waring's flesh. It had stopped on a bone, skidded off, and almost entirely penetrated the arm. That at least enabled Challenger to remove it more easily than if it was lodged deeply in the muscle tissue.

Finn stood ready with a clean cloth, a bottle of brandy, and bandages. The two had treated wounds before, and were efficient. Waring gritted his teeth and several times sipped cognac from a bathroom glass.

When Waring was bandaged, Sheila tearfully asked how he was.

"Well, said Challenger, "the good news is that you probably will live, and that this young lady seems willing to look after you. The bad news is, this wound will hurt like the Liberals winning an election, and it may become infected. Fortunately, I am a genius scientist, if modest, and I have a wonder drug that will probably kill the infection."

"That goo that you put on it, the salve?" Waring remembered him smearing a generous dollop of ointment on the wound before bandaging it.

"That will kill germs on the site," Challenger explained, "but germs inside your body may be a problem. I have capsules to swallow that should stamp out anything that tries to get started. I'll give you one in a moment, and enough to take every four hours for the next several days. I call them 'antibiotics', and hope that some pharmaceutical firm will buy the formula and offer them to the public. I have used this drug in the Amazon to save a number of Indian warriors and our own people when we were injured. We always pulled through. I expect that you will, too. In which case, you will have to explain to Lord Lindemere what you and Sheila were doing on the third floor of this house at that hour!" He chuckled and shook hands with the big Australian.

Charles and Felicity Tremayne came in, holding hands. He nodded to those present and asked after Waring.

"Challenger says that I'll live and will need to tell you why Sheila and I were up on the third floor at that hour, when we heard the kidnapped girls trying to scream through that door." Waring winced as he moved his arm. He felt rather like a young man caught in an intimate moment by his girl's father.

"Yes," admitted the lord. "I have been wondering about that." He fixed the wounded man with a steely gaze.

"Charles!" said his wife. "The girl was off duty, and I rather fancy that she was looking after our guest. Probably showing him the snowfall out a window from up there, eh, Sheila?" She winked, remembering times when she and her man had had to sneak around to have private moments before their marriage.

"Well, as it turned out, it's fortunate that you two went up there," admitted the lord. He turned to Susan and Lois.

"Are you ladies quite all right, apart from having been scared out of a year's growth? Can we offer you something, maybe a brandy? A cup of tea? Thomas and a maid have gone to brew some. I expect it will do us all good, and I doubt if any of us will sleep anytime soon."

"Thank you, your lordship," said Susan. "I'd love a cup, and Lois needs one, too. We were pretty shaken up. Mrs. Challenger, I got your Colt .25 off of that vile man's body. It had a little blood on it, but I washed it off. I hope that if you oil it, it won't rust or pit. I'm so sorry that he got it away from me, ma'am." She flushed scarlet as she passed the gun to its rightful owner.

"Here, let me see that," said Roxton. He took it over to the strong lights at the bathroom sink and scrubbed at it with a hot, wet cloth, and dried it. "Just a bit on the slide, I think," he reported. "Only there for a few moments. I think you just need oil it, Finny, and it will be fine."

"What about it being evidence?" Felicity Tremayne wanted to know. "Shouldn't we have left it there for the police to see when they arrive? I called them, but they can't be here until the ice melts in town, or snow overlays it until their horses can get footing. Driving a car in this weather isn't advisable yet."

"Never mind the frigging cops," snorted Finn. "This is my gun, and it's a good one. Their evidence man can take my word as a gentlewoman that that creep shot at Marguerite and Johnny with it, or I'll have words with him. I'm not letting a gun rust so that some snoopy cop can be happy. Anyway, there should be two bullets from it in the wall down the hall, from when he fired at the Roxtons. They can put that in their evidence pipe and smoke it." She knew very well that blood contains salt and acids that can soon rust a blued gun.

All of the other guests were awake and about by this time, and had to be cautioned to stay away from Havilland's body. They were aghast at what had happened and their shock and ire were evident. Still, most were intrigued with the idea of an adventure. Lindemere asked them to gather in the parlor and await him and those who were involved in the shooting. He calmed the grumblers by cheerfully noting that breakfast would be along soon.

CHAPTER TEN

Lindemere and his wife then got all of those involved in the incident into the Roxtons' room and questioned them as to whether anyone else might be in league with the plotters.

"We didn't see anyone else with them, and Green and Havilland didn't mention them when they bragged to Lois and me about their crimes," said Susan. "They just blamed Mr. Randt for the cobra affair, but even they weren't sure if it was him. But what they said, I mean about the Oriental basket and his connections to gypsies and their snake shows makes sense."

"Do you think they'd have killed you and Lois if Sheila and Mr. Waring hadn't found you ladies?" Lindemere thought he knew this answer, but wanted Susan's view.

"Yes, your lordship. We heard too much, and they told us more. Even if they'd sold us to that, ah, establishment for 'professional ladies', they'd have been afraid that we'd talk, and the police would hear about us. The people there could have also used our information to blackmail them. All I hoped to do was to keep them happy enough with us sexually that they might let us live until they left here. Then, someone might find us, as they did. Thank God." She shivered.

Finn sat beside Susan and put an arm around her. When the young girl looked at her employer, she saw a world of compassion and concern in her eyes. Susan leaned on Finn's shoulder and began crying, shaking with deep sobs.

"There, there," said Lady Lindemere. "Charles, haven't you got some brandy in here?" She joined Finn in comforting the traumatized Susan. Lois also began crying, and Challenger and Sheila came over to pat her on the shoulder and tell her how glad they were that she had survived.

Lindemere found a bottle of fine cognac in his nightstand, and got glasses from the bathroom.

"Breakfast will be served soon," he announced. "Felicity told the staff to come over and begin that. After we've all eaten and gotten some tea into us, things will look brighter. The main thing is, this is over. You women can begin to recover, and Felicity and I will assist you however may help. I daresay that my new sister and her husband will join us in this. Roxton?" He looked at the tall nobleman.

Roxton and Marguerite exchanged a look and she said. "Charles, you are my brother and have welcomed me into your family. John and I will be more than happy to stand by Lois and Susan and anyone else affected by this awful thing." Her husband nodded, pulling Marguerite to his side.

"Well then, once Susan and Lois have recovered enough, I suggest that we dress to conceal our guns, so as not to alarm anyone or sensationalize this matter, but remain wary, in case anyone else here is involved. Let's all adjourn to our rooms and freshen up. The men may as well shave, excepting Prof. Challenger, of course." He looked with a wan smile at that gentleman, who had looked amused when shaving was mentioned.

"Stop smiling, Genius," teased his wife. "I do need to trim that beard slightly." She hugged his leg as he stood by her, one of her arms still around Susan.

"Lois, Susan and I can probably let you borrow some of our clothes," she continued. "We're all about the same size. and that uniform is torn and a bit mussed. You don't want to have to trek to your place in this weather."

"Oh, ma'am, would you? I'd be ever so grateful," Lois managed.

"If you ladies don't have anything to fit Lois, I believe that I may," said Felicity Tremayne. "Charles, I suggest that we give Lois the day off, and she may need some recovery time."

Her husband nodded. "Certainly, Darling. At full pay, of course. Lois, I do hope that you'll remain with us.

Lois and Susan changed clothes in Susan's room, and Susan remembered her promise to give Lois a pair of her knickers. Finn was intrigued when she heard, and brought her a pair from her suitcase. Lois was a bit scandalized when she saw how brief they were by the standards of 1928, but delighted with the fine material and workmanship.

Knowing that Susan's pay limited her clothing budget and knowing what she and Marguerite paid to have these specialty garments made in a small shop in London, Finn told Susan that she would also replace the pair that Green had taken from her. These had presumably burned in the fiery car crash. "I'll give you several pair as soon as they can be made," she promised, to Susan's delight. The shattered girl smiled for the first time that awful morning.

Susan changed stockings, for hers had a run in them, and donned a dark blue dress. She loaned Lois a medium green one that left that servant girl thrilled to wear something of that quality. Susan tended to buy fewer clothes than many girls her age, but went for quality in what she got. Lois had never owned things as fine as this. And she felt a certain flush of feminine pleasure as she realized how daring the new white knickers felt. The lace trim was hand sewn, and she loved the feel of the fine satin.

Marguerite Roxton and Felicity Tremayne came in to see if anything more might help, and this gesture from two noblewomen almost made Lois cry again. She wasn't used to such compassion and kindness.

Finn ran over to change in her room, and made good her threat to trim her husband's beard where an errant strand or two of hair was sticking out. He held her close when she was done and told her how glad he was that she hadn't been harmed.

She gave him her wide urchin grin and said, "You know how it goes, George. Only the good die young. I'm a naughty girl!" She stood on her toes and rubbed noses with him.

Finn selected a dark brown sleeveless dress, and tried not to look vain as she watched George study her donning a matching set of hose and lingerie. She chose shoes with three- inch heels, with a strap around the ankle, although Marguerite had once cautioned her that some thought that such shoes were invitations to male advances. Her favorite gold loop earrings touched off her look, which was both elegant and casual, to a degree.

Challenger told her that she was possibly the loveliest woman on Earth. She knew that this wasn't so, but blushed and thanked him. It was good to be adored by the man who was so high in her own esteem.

Before they went down to breakfast, Finn put her Smith & Wesson and its heavy leather belt with her hunting knife back in her suitcase and put her Colt .32 in her handbag. She wiped off the .25 with an oily cloth and took it over to Susan. Later that day, she'd clean the barrel, too, to get the powder residure.

"Here," she said, "just in case there's another conspirator around. Keep it in that little purse thingy I gave you earlier, so that it doesn't get scratched in your bag. And keep an eye on these people as that will is read later. If someone tries something, it may be then. Do you feel like being able to help if someone starts something dangerous?"

"Yes, Mrs. Challenger. I'm even looking forward to breakfast. I won't let you down again."

Finn squeezed her shoulder. "Susan, the only way that you will let me down is if you don't recover well from what you went through last night."

Susan nodded. "It was pretty scary. You can't imagine what Green made me do."

"I bet I can," replied Finn. "I think I know men well enough that I've encountered most of what they like. And I've probably done almost all of it. A lot of it even before I married George. If you want to tell me later, we'll talk about it. But I can almost guarantee you that you aren't the first girl to do whatever it was.

"A very nasty man named Avery Burton once captured Marguerite and me, and we had to do some things that I've never quite told George, in detail. (See, "Spirit Jaguar" on this board.) It was mostly all stuff that I'd done with other guys before, but being made to do it under duress, treated like a captive slut...that made it different, and more stressful. At least, it brought Marguerite and me a lot closer together. We've been really good friends since."

"What happened?" asked a wide-eyed Lois. "Was Mr. Burton arrested?"

"No, "said Finn. "There weren't any police or courts near there. But Marguerite and I escaped and found our men. We called on him and his creepy pals a little later. He had a fatal exchange with my law firm, Mssrs. Webley & Scott. That was just before I got my first Smith & Wesson." She looked grim, but satisfied. She omitted that her man and Lord Roxton had also pumped some .45 caliber lead into the aforesaid Mr. Burton just before she shot him with her borrowed revolver, once the property of the deceased Prof. Arthur Summerlee.

Lois raised a hand to her mouth. "You mean that you..."

Susan smiled. "Don't worry, Lois. I doubt that Mr. Burton suffered much. Mrs. Challenger is an excellent shot."

A somewhat subdued Lois glanced nervously at her companions. She came from a different social order, and a nation where relatively few ordinary citizens shot anyone to avenge rape or other crimes. The jungle justice of the remote Brazilian frontier was almost beyond her understanding.

Finn grimaced. "Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned that. I had a really rough life before George Challenger rescued me from a nasty place, and it was some time after that before I came here and became a proper lady. Well, fairly proper. I sometimes have lapses. But only when people try to hurt me or my friends. Stick with the Genius and the Roxtons and me. If anything else happens, we'll try to see that you don't have to go through anything more that's bad."

She changed the subject. "Hey, what is it with Mick Waring and Sheila? Do you think they really fancy each other? She sure is taking good care of him. I hope they come out of this with each other, for keeps. I like the way that he looks at her and how she looks back. She likes him."

Susan snorted. "Sorry, ma'am. But I thought that everyone suspected that, seeing the way that they were sneaking around upstairs last night. She may have been looking for a place to do what I had to do, but she had a choice. I do think they make a cute couple, and his poor shoulder! He's lucky to have her to nurse him."

They went down to breakfast, speculating on how long the Waring-Sheila thing would last, and about who had the largest inheritance coming. Lois was still a little uneasy about being with a woman who had killed someone, but she quite liked the citrus-based cologne that she wore. Finn had let Lois wear some, and she felt more luxurious in this company than she had felt in some while.

Later, the more Lois thought about the matter, the more she decided that Mrs. Challenger might have been right to shoot that man. She found herself half wishing that she had been able to do that to Green and Havilland. She knew that she was in for some sleepless nights as she relived what had almost happened to her. At least, she didn't have to worry that her kidnappers would be back! She tried to feel sympathy for them, but somehow didn't quite manage. She did manage to feel very grateful to be alive, and that helped her to stay together as the day progressed.

Ransom and Cavendish had been roused with the others, and agreed to read the will immediately after breakfast. They promised to examine their papers, lest the conspirators had altered anything during their post-midnight foray into the safe.

"How the devil did those people get the safe open, anyway?" wondered a troubled Ransom.

"I'm afraid that was my fault," admitted Lord Lindemere. "My sister grew up here, as I did. Father gave me the combination, and may have told her, too, especially in his declining days. He wanted to be sure that we had access to it after his passing. He was always fond of Clarissa, although she and I never got on well. I really should have had the combination changed after I became the new Lord. I'll have it re-set so that only Felicity and I know. I may include Marguerite Roxton later, as we get to know each other."

Thomas came in and announced breakfast. Like the others, he looked a bit haggard, but he had slept longer than some. The other staff hadn't roused until Felicity had sent him over to wake them around five AM. He had shoveled ice and snow out of the way to ensure that they had a safe passage to the main house.

The mood was subdued, yet excited, as hosts and guests alike attacked eggs, ham, toast, and other good things. Finn and Felicity looked at Lois and at each other. A knowing glance passed between them, and Finn nodded slightly. She would keep Lois company. Susan was seated on her left, and seemed stable, considering her night.

Finn caught her husband's eye, and they looked over at Marguerite (Tremayne) Krux Roxton. She seemed thoughtful, talking quietly with her mate. Finally, she leaned over and asked her half brother something.

"Why, yes, Marguerite!" he said, "Yes, indeed, I will be happy to have the lawyers arrange for you to bear our family name. Welcome home, sister! I only regret that it took so long for me to be able to say those words!"

And Marguerite felt a warm glow of acceptance pass through her.

She looked at her husband, who took her hand and squeezed it as he kissed her. She decided that life still wasn't perfect. But, for her, it had just gotten a lot closer to that goal.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Following breakfast, the guests and the lawyers convened in the library, and servants brought in tea and cookies.

Ransom took out the will and examined it briefly, with Cavendish leaning over his shoulder as they searched for any discrepancies.

All was in order, and Ransom began to read as his partner sorted through the checks that had been made out in their office, drawn on one of the late Lord Lindemere's accounts.

The main bequest that the former Treehouse companions listened for turned out to be 100,000 pounds, a very handsome sum in those days. Roxton decided that Lord Lindemere must have felt very guilty indeed over the way that he had handled the matter of his illegitimate daughter!

Others were more or less satisfied with their allotments, though some grumbled. But the will was plain, and several were reasonably entitled only to small amounts, if that.

The lawyers handed out the checks, getting receipts.

The sun was now well up, and additional snow had fallen, making passage over the ice possible for cars with chains on the tires, or horses and sleighs. This brought the long arm of the law.

The same inspector as before arrived, with half a dozen uniformed men and the coroner. They confirmed that those in the car were dead, burned beyond recognition. The coroner would have to identify them from metal personal effects and bone sizes.

This was grisly news, and Lord Lindemere had been brooding all morning. Twice, he had gone off by himself, mourning the loss of his sister. She had never been close to him, but was his sibling, and the only remaining member of his birth family.

Felicity gave him time to himself, but finally went into the den and held him until the police came in.

They were not happy with the deaths, and two officers seemed intent on trying to force the servants to say negative things about the guests involved, and the Lindemeres. This was no more than blatant class envy, and after Thomas told his master what was going on, that gentleman spoke frankly to the Inspector, demanding that it stop. The inspector concurred and set those men to looking for evidence. Little was left, save for Havilland's body, which Lady Lindemere had had covered with a sheet. The police viewed the chairs and ropes where the girls had been bound on the third floor.

Two .25 caliber bullets were recovered from the far wall at the end of the hall, verifying that someone had shot at the Roxtons and Lois, or at least appearing to substantiate their story. A burned .32 Webley automatic, the Bakelite grips (stocks) melted, was found in the car. Examination showed that several shots had been fired; the magazine being almost empty. Challenger handed over the bullet that he'd taken from Waring's shoulder, noting that it should match those found in the burned Webley from the car. Green's 9MM Luger was also found in the car, verifying Susan's and Lois's accounts that he was so armed.

All of the survivors told basically the same story, and nothing conflicted with it. The inspector and the coroner concluded that things had happened much as described. One officer insisted that the Roxtons' guns be impounded for test firing, to compare with the bullets in Havilland, and one that had passed through him and been found down the hallway. They handed them over, the engraved .38 and his .45 automatic. Challenger admitted to shooting Havilland, also, and his .45 was confiscated. Everyone carefully avoided mentioning the .32 Colts, but the .25 came out of Susan's purse on demand, and one arrogant policeman almost shot a guest while trying to unload it. The errant bullet lodged in a library lamp.

Roxton and Lindemere took Ransom aside and soon approached the detective again. "Gentlemen," said Ransom, "these noblemen have engaged me to act as their counsel. Have you any charges to place? Even if the guns that you seized are a match to those leaving bullets in the wall and the body, is that of any significance? They have admitted to shooting the deceased, but in a clear case of self defense and to protect one of Lord Lindemere's servant girls, who was outraged earlier. If the Crown lays charges, I will happily defend my clients, but suggest that there is no need to burden these people further. They have clearly done nothing wrong. Lord Lindemere is in mourning for his sister, however villainous she proved to be. He does not need to endure the stress of a needless investigation!"

The inspector and the coroner conferred and agreed that test-firing the guns was mainly a matter of protocol, the outcome being a foregone conclusion.

"Let my .38 rust or otherwise get damaged and I'll see if I can sue to replace it," threatened Lady Roxton. And one glance at her made it clear that she was in earnest.

The inspector shrugged. He called over the Crown prosecutor and they talked privately. The result was that everyone had to sit down and write out a statement, which the officials then compared. The statements were all basically the same, as were the spoken accounts. The coroner confirmed that the angle of the shots into Havilland's body was such that the Roxtons and the brilliant scientist were probably telling the truth. There was effectively no way to counter their version, and the flight by those in the car tended to confirm that they had been criminals fleeing the scene of their crime.

Finally, the prosecutor told the inspector, "Joe, this case involves the nobility, and Lindemere's loss of his sister will elicit sympathy from any jury that we can seat. I think it's a waste of the Crown's time to try the matter. Give them their damned guns back. We'll take the bodies to the morgue, file the required documents, and call it quits. Unless we find something very odd about those burned bodies, this thing is basically over. The coroner and I will proclaim a finding of Justifiable Homicide.

"Let's express our sympathy to his lordship and clear off," he concluded. "I want to get lunch and complete some paperwork on my desk before it gets dark. It's bloody cold and nasty, and I want to go home early tonight."

The inspector nodded and gave the necessary orders. The police packed up and departed, towing the burned-out car and the bodies with them. The prosecutor shook hands with Lindemere, wished him well, and took polite leave of the Roxtons. In this sceptered isle, it never hurt to be on good terms with an Earl!

Lord Lindemere suggested that most of the guests leave while the weather permitted, and their cars were brought around to the front of the manor as they packed. They were seen off with well wishes, and matters at Lindemere Manor returned to normal.

There were a few exceptions to the departures. Because Mick Waring was still in pain and needed attention, he was allowed to remain. The coroner, who was, after all, a doctor, had examined his wound and dressed it. Nothing more could be done other than taking Challenger's pills and giving the torn flesh time to heal. He was unable to drive safely, and Lindemere told him to remain a few days as he mended and the weather hopefully improved.

"I trust that you will have no objections if I assign Sheila to look after you, Mr. Waring?" asked the lord. A keen listener might have detected a touch of sarcasm in his voice, but it failed to trouble either Waring or the maid named. In fact, they seemed quite happy with the offer...

The Roxtons and the Challengers had further to drive than most and were using the same car. Lindemere and his lady wanted more time to get to know Marguerite, so these couples also remained. The lord discovered that he and Roxton knew some of the same men from the late war, and they had hunted in many of the same places. They had much to discuss.

Finn sat Susan down and showed her how to disassemble and clean the little Colt .25. "I'll buy you one of these when we get home," she explained. "We'll get you a Firearms Certificate, and add a few other guns that you'll need to accompany me in the field. Before we return to Kenya next year, you need to be capable of using a rifle instinctively and effectively. Our lives may depend on it.

"And I want to teach you motion picture photography as well. I want to make more movies. People love seeing animals in the wild, and they seem quite willing to pay to do it. Can you handle going back to Africa? You said that you weren't really cut out for it. I don't want to force you to do something that will make you unhappy." She looked anxiously at Susan, of whom she had become quite fond.

"Yes, Mrs. Challenger," her secretary replied. "If I only have to be there for a safari, it will be much less stressful than if I had to live there and work at that bank, everyone knowing what happened to me. And I'd rather like to hunt a bit, if I may. And visit with Holly and Diana."

Guns cleaned, the Challengers and Susan took leave of their hosts, pleading the need for a nap before dinner. Their belongings were moved to rooms near the Lindemeres, space being available after the other guests had gone. No one wanted to sleep next to where Havilland's body had lain, and Felicity commented that the bloody carpet there would need replacement. The servants got up most of the mess, but a stain lingered. Death tends to leave its mark…

That evening, the group at the dining table was much smaller, and even the servants seemed more at ease. The Lindemeres were still subdued at the loss of his sister, but tried to be cheerful.

His lordship was intrigued to learn that his guests were returning to Kenya the following year, and asked whether it would be intruding if he joined them. "That's if I can persuade Felicity that we should go," he amended.

"I think we should let Marguerite and John decide," said Felicity. "If Marguerite might get bored, I can keep her company in camp, and I'd like to hunt some of the more difficult antelope."

"You going to show us where you shot that really big buffalo in the hallway?" asked Finn. "Do that, and I'll convince George and the Roxtons that you definitely need to join us." Her grin was so genuine that even the grieving Charles smiled.

So, it was decided that the three couples would join each other in Africa. Lindemere commented that it would be a good way to get to know his new sister.

By the time that the couples adjourned for bed, they felt better about what had happened, and found themselves looking forward to the morrow.

"I want to search the stables and Green's quarters and see if we can find any of that stolen art that the police missed," said Lindemere. "And I want to assure the staff that there will be no layoffs, as Green predicted. Some of them told me that he was stirring up resentment, making them uneasy that we might let them go. They'll be needed here, as our old staff will stay at our other home. We've decided to keep both houses.

Three days later, the weather had cleared, and there was no reason for the guests to tarry further. Even Mick Waring said that he needed to get back to London, where he managed the British office of his father's import-export company. But his shoulder was still painful, and he asked whether Sheila might drive him into the city.

Permission was granted, and the two agreed to continue to see one another. Shelia was shy about this, because of the class difference, but Waring told her not to worry. He also agreed to get her several outfits that she could wear in London, so as to appear solidly upper middle class.

"If I think you're worth driving back here to see every weekend for a while, or having you come to me, the least that I can do is to buy you a few clothes," he pointed out. "Of course, I may try to get them off of you at night, but what man wouldn't? You're quite the sight for male eyes, Sheila. And I like the way that you take care of me."

Evidently he did like the way that she cared for him, for within a few months, he proposed. She accepted, and they lived happily ever after. Well, as happily as any couple really ever does, and certainly more cheerfully than most...

The Roxtons and the Challengers loaded their luggage into the Rolls-Royce, and said their goodbyes. John and Marguerite promised to return, and invited the Lindemeres to visit them soon.

As they drove toward Avebury, Challenger commented that at least, the visit hadn't been dull. "Tragic for some, "he admitted, "but Marguerite finally got to meet her family, and they seem fine people."

"The ones who are left," agreed Lord Roxton. "And that check for a hundred thousand pounds isn't trifling, either."

"I'm happy to have it," his wife said. "But I'd rather have had my father for all of these years, and enjoyed growing up with Charles. But I'd probably have clashed with Clarissa, God rest her conniving soul."

"One thing would have hopefully remained the same," said Roxton. "I'd have married you, anyway, if I was lucky."

Marguerite smiled. "You've always been a lucky man, John. Who knows? You might have landed me at that. I'm glad that we eventually got together."

"I hope that I find someone who wants me someday, and it works out as well," offered Susan, a little wistfully.

"You will," said Finn Challenger. "Maybe you'll even get a man almost as wonderful as I did. Then, you can come close to what George and I have."

"What's that?" asked a puzzled Susan.

"The love affair of the ages; the romance of all time," laughed the Roxtons in unison. They had heard this claim from Finn for years. And teased her about it, and disputed it, saying that the title belonged to them, instead.

"I think I could handle that," agreed Susan. "In the meantime, I want to enjoy living life as it is. And that's a lot better than it was at this time last year."

"I'll never know my father," mused Finn. "Marguerite, at least, you have a brother to get to know."

"Yes," agreed Lady Roxton. "I just hope that I'll be as close to him and Felicity as I am now to you and George, Finnykins. You, the Malones, and John are already my family. And my children, of course. Can't forget them, although we came too close to it for the past week."

Yeah," agreed Finn. "Fatherless and motherless, we may be, but we've got each other. And I wouldn't trade you guys for anyone."

Challenger put his arm around her, and she lay with her head on his shoulder as they drove.

The End


End file.
